


One Bite

by twistmyleg



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Eating Disorders, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Intervention, Minor Character Death, PATH Dynamic, Spoilers, Starvation, Therion (Octopath Traveler) Needs a Hug, gareth needs an apology confirmed, rare friendship between two edgelords woah, there's a supplement pun and i'm wheezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-25 21:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistmyleg/pseuds/twistmyleg
Summary: His first ration becomes his first and only life lesson, abided for years and enforced with an iron grip. It's only until he comes across an eccentric apothecary and other travelers that everything comes into question.





	1. Antecedents

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm also working on another something something on here, but this was on my mind too. It was originally going to be a one-shot, but that didn't happen. It will be split into four or so parts; each uploaded within a day or so after the other. 
> 
> Also (super important), Therion (Octopath Traveler) Needs a Hug is an offical tag now? *claps slowly* We've done it. We've broken our good thief boy so much that he gets a tag for our sentiments after we break him (what have we done?). 
> 
> Either way, buckle up and enjoy the ride.

One bite.

That was his only ration upon their first victory.

Sure, their pockets sagged with grand treasures from the estate they just ransacked. Different trinkets of supposed value jingled as they scurried from one alleyway to the next, ducking and hopping around fences until they could reach a secure location far from the relentless guards. But in the grand scheme of it all, their golden gooses were nothing in comparison to the meal that followed. Silver and gold are traded for refined weapons for later heists. Food is only consumed once; entities that create memories.

Leaned against the stone wall, they had spread a variety of fruits, grains and meats between them. Foods Therion was once familiar with, and then a stranger to upon the whims of another’s decision. He saw how his partner took up a succulent apple that reflected the setting sun in its skin, inspecting it for blemishes before taking a large bite. His mouth watered at the crunching sound, reverberating in their quiet corner. His partner pulled it back, revelling in its sweet taste and giving a pleased little hum before pushing the apple toward him. 

“Here, partner. Take a bite. Likely imported; makes it sweeter.” He was hesitant in taking it from his hand, his eyes inspecting it in a similar fashion. No bugs crawled from its core, and no blemishes showed signs of rot. Certainly better than those he ate from the sullied roads, covered in dirt and stepped on by a passing horse. Cautiously, he took a small bite. The taste was a long-forgotten nostalgia: sweet on the tongue, refreshing in its cool texture. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the fruits and grains disappeared behind bulging pockets, his partner rising and holding out his hand expectantly. “Give it here. That’s all for now, partner. We oughta get movin’ to our next heist.” 

That was the first time he questioned his motives, Therion later realizes. Perhaps he decided then Therion would hinder his long-term success. He would not forget the trace of a scowl on his partner’s lips; how his eyes darkened for a brief moment before they lightened and a smile came across his foreboding figure. “Why? Ya never know what’s gonna happen next. For all we know, our treasure’ll be gone by the next heist. Tea leaves like us can’t afford to expect victory all the bloody time. No trainin’ ourselves to expect the good life until the opportunity arises.” 

There was an underlying threat behind the words. Maybe that was why Therion did not question them for years after as they moved from heist to heist. Or perhaps it was because they continued to ride the winds of victory every day after that encounter, proving his point time and again. He could only vaguely remember the next day the hunger pains shooting through his abdomen, begging for more than one bite of an apple. He would always remember the rush of adrenaline in his veins, soaking in their greater victory. If they could achieve these wonders, what was one bite in comparison?

But Therion should have been more keen, he recognizes years later on the edge of a Quarrycrest precipice under a blazing sun. The winds of victory still gave force to Darius’ cape as they stood in opposing positions, no longer providing him the same adrenaline rush. The hunger pains are more evident: he can barely hold a dagger to Darius’ strength, even if it was never much to begin with. But it had been maintained over their years as partners. And as he falls, he remembers how his pockets in Riverford bulged with the unreachable, yet always missing something: a chunk of bread; slices of meat; an apple.

**_No trainin’ ourselves to expect the good life until the opportunity arises._** He saw it where Therion had not. No wonder he always took one extra bite behind his back. His heart ached agonizingly with that lone thought as a ubiquitous white swallowed him.

* * *

Therion cannot help but replay this memory, sitting languidly in the corner of a Wellspring tavern. 

At the table in front of him sits his companions on his quest, each with a mug half-emptied of its alcoholic contents. There was a small stack of mugs in the center, shared between two prominent members, staring each other down with lopsided grins and challenges on their honors as they took up another round. The others observe with different expressions: amused, concerned, or distracted with another matter. Surrounding their mugs lay different platters of Wellspring’s finest imported cuisine. Ranging in lizard tails to a recently added beetroot dish, each member indulges as they please. It’s so easy for them to forget their individual tasks. Therion could never quite understand it.

He turns back to his corner, staring out a nearby window and watching the sun set on another day. Beside him sits a single apple -- with perhaps one or two blemishes, despite its claims to be imported from a luxurious apple orchard -- that reflects the sun’s last rays, left unbitten. He glances at his wrist, encircled with the too-tight Fool’s Bangle digging into his skin. Different emotions come to mind when regarding his latest accessory: humiliation for the prospect of even wearing it; frustration at his lack of foresight; a knowing feeling for what it signifies to his personal growth. 

He needs to be better. Stronger. Faster. 

He sets his wrist down, shoving the apple in his pocket and standing from the chair, sauntering toward the door. He bypasses his companions as they continued their festivities -- the stack had grown bigger -- not batting an eye in his direction. Wellspring was surprisingly cool one the sun’s rays disappeared, but Therion finds a deep-rooted chill crawling along his skin as he scurries to the inn around the corner. He pulls his mantle closer, tucking his scarf further over his chin. He doesn’t know why he bothers, for they’ve never helped before. 

Upon arriving at the inn (out of breath; he could have been quicker and he knows it), Therion retrieves the apple from his pocket, eyeing a waste bin in the corner. Approaching it was all too easy, but the next part was always harder. Therion stares into it, noting its half-eaten contents from numerous vendors lining Wellspring’s paved streets. As per routine, he lifts the apple to hover just above its destination, but his fingers always refuse to loosen its grip.  **_Throw it away. It’s of no use to you._ **  Perhaps his fingers are more sensible than he, trembling though they always are at the chill.

On this particular instance, Therion does not luck out. Within moments, the bell chime rings from its corner, admitting a vocal resident with a good-natured heart. “So this is where ya ran off to,” they speak, footsteps approaching Therion. Immediately he swipes the apple into his pocket, turning on his heel to face the green-vested apothecary, hoping it was enough to eschew his sickly sweet gaze. A lazy smile is painted across his lips, aura reeking with alcohol yet not overwhelming. Therion tucks his scarf further over his chin, hiding the newly formed scowl and ducking the other hand under his mantle.

“Lost to Olberic already, Alfyn? Figured you had him by a few drinks,” he remarks, eyes averting in different directions for an escape. Alfyn lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck instinctually.

“Nah, Olberic gave in. Doesn’t wanna face the hefty consequences of drinkin’ ‘fore the lizardmen hordes.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, light radiating from them. “But I was more worried ‘bout ya leavin’ us like that. Didn’t even bother to try a lizard tail! They were mighty delicious; I can understand why they’re a local favorite. They pack quite a crunch.” His eyes trail toward the lower edges of his mantle, and different wrinkles appear around his eyes and brow. 

“Lizard tails just don’t suit me,” Therion argues, fingers treading lightly under the fabric.

“You said that ‘bout the cuisine in Stonegard too.” He shrugs, spotting an open pass between Alfyn and the chamber hall. 

“A man can have his tastes, Alfyn. I thought I told you that last time. Mint-encrusted ratkin is something I would prefer not to indulge in, thank you.” **_Not quick enough_ ** . His sidestep toward an escape is matched equally by Alfyn. His shoulders broaden in a similar manner to Olberic’s. 

“Well, of course. But this has been a repeatin’ occurrence, Therion. Not just Wellspring and Stonegard.” A frown tugs at the corner of his lips. “I know you tend to eat little, but ya haven’t been eatin’ much as of late. One day, you’re gonna tire out without energy. Can’t have that when it’s down to the wire, no?” His finger points to his pocket. “Even rejectin’ that apple there. ‘Bout to throw it away when it’s perfectly suitable to eat.” He can already hear the words in his mind without saying them aloud as he pulls out the apple slowly, turning it in his fingers and giving it a cold stare. 

“If you look closely, they’re some blemishes,” he mumbles, fingers stopping on particularly bruised spots. Alfyn clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly in disapproval. 

“Not rottin’ though. Still perfectly good.” In an odd fashion, Alfyn sighs and lowers his hand to nudge the apple in his direction. “You won’t even give it a bite?” It was pleading in a way a child asks for sweets with a playful undertone. Therion rolls his eye slowly and brings the apple to his lips, making an evident crunch sound as he bites. That brings a relieved smile to Alfyn’s lips, as Therion knew it would, showing him the bitten portion of the apple that gleams in the dim lighting without a word. “Much better. It’ll give you good energy.” The bell chime rings again, admitting Olberic and a few others from the tavern. Their banter and joy enraptures Alfyn’s attention, in which he turns his head toward them. He has every reason to: Tressa’s arms swung around Olberic’s neck in a piggyback fashion, giggling with delight.and mischief. “Aw, Tress! Don’t hamper Olberic like that! Gonna give ‘im a bigger headache in the mornin’!”

In that moment, Therion reaches in his mouth and pulls out the saliva-covered apple chunk, discarding it in the wastebin. Tressa lets out another squeal as Olberic attempts to pluck her from his neck, to which Alfyn shakes his head knowingly and takes to Olberic’s side, bargaining with Tressa on the terms of letting go. Without another word, he slips past Alfyn and the others into the chamber hall, apple loose in his grip as he toys with his pockets for the keys to his shared inn room. He owes Tressa quite a few things tonight: distracting Alfyn and distracting Olberic from their  room. The longer he can keep away from his incessant snoring, the better off his sleep would be. Not that it was particularly well-kept over the years.

Upon entering the inn room, he immediately shuts the door and locks it. Olberic has a spare set of keys for when he was ready, and he most certainly did not need the others to barge in unannounced. Another waste bin was positioned in a dark corner; without hesitation this time, Therion chucks the remaining fruit away. It rolls a bit before settling, to which Therion turns on his heel and stops in front of a mirror across from his bed. Rectangular in shape, it captures every angle of his appearance. The memory replays itself from the tavern, in which Therion places the bangled hand to the mirror and scowls at the reflection he receives. It was not just the bangle: patches of skin sagged in different areas. One too many.

“No training ourselves to expect the good life until the opportunity arises,” he whispers, a practiced confidence supporting each word. “You’re only worth as much as you can steal. Your gain from an extra bite is a loss in the long haul. Speed’s all a tea leaf needs to steal. Without it, he is nothing.” His other hand carefully pinches the skin under the bangle, stretching it slowly and igniting a dull pain. If one looked closely, bone was visible against skin. “Get rid of it. You’ll be faster without it. More successful. And when you can do that, there’s always more to dispose of.” He retracts his hair, bringing the other to run through his hair. Numerous white strands tear from their roots and float softly to the ground around him like abnormal snowfall. He reminds himself those strands were one less hinderance to his performance, and its enough to keep his remaining doubts quiet.

He does not bother to take off his mantle and scarf as he settles under the cotton covers, making sure to face the wall rather than the other bed (last time he faced that direction, Alfyn was staring right at him with those green eyes. It was too much). Immediately feeling too cold, he pulls more of the fabric over his huddled form, even though he knows it will not thaw him completely. He lays awake, staring at the patterns the moon creates on the wall until he hears Olberic’s gentle laughter echo into the room. A pair of keys clatter on a table and a door creaks.

“Seems he’s already sleeping,” the warrior whispers. “...Of course. Bright and early for both of us. We’ve still a morning training session to get through before we split.” A pause. A hearty low laugh bubbles from his lips. “He asks for the most vigorous workouts; I don’t push it on him. It certainly has improved his strength, if hindering his speed some. But if you insist, I’ll lower the intensity tomorrow. Good night, Alfyn.” 

Not moments later, the door clicks and a firm plop reverberates in the room. Therion holds fistfuls of the sheets against his lips, tugging at the skin under his bangle with a tighter pinch as he listens for Olberic’s even breathing, and eventually titanic snores that cause almost all objects in his vicinity to vibrate. Only when he’s sure the warrior is asleep does he release his skin, adjusting the covers accordingly.  **_That’s the second time today he’s nagged with an apothecary lecture, even if indirectly. If you were quicker, they could have been avoided._ **

This is not the first time this thought pops into his mind. Since their eight quests converged on a Rippletide evening, Alfyn has been the only one to consistently dig under his shell, poking his nose in affairs not involving him. Questions ranged from the purpose of his journey to an indicator of his childhood; the central questions tying around his overall well-being. Frowning at even the smallest scratch, insisting for an antibacterial salve. Or clicking his tongue as he did today, eyes knowing there was meaning behind each action. Yet the way he always greeted and left him with a smile outshone moments where concern laced every word. If that routine were disturbed, the entire group would notice.

As he always does, Therion shakes his head, and reaffirms his mantra from before. He grips the sheets as if they would disappear from sight, hoping it shelters his form enough to not arouse suspicion. There was no need to cause alarm. No need to garner suspicion. So long as he was in control and could gain the speed he desired, there was no need to involve others, no matter how deep they dived. They did not need to know. Even if they did, they would not understand. He was a thief; a criminal who needed to worry about his every action. They were normal, caring people whose lives could be thrown on the whims of the Gods.

Yet still -- in part from Olberic’s snores, in part from his own thoughts -- Therion remains insomniatic for most of the night, repeating his mantra until distant memories lull him into a light slumber.

* * *

Only at his absolute worst would he make an entrance and exacerbate everything.

And yet for all the sweat that forms at the back of his neck and on his palms -- despite being cornered in a stuffy cave a distance away from Wellspring -- it is still outstandingly cold. If he was not smiling down on him in disgust and pity, he would pull his mantle closer in the hopes it smothers him in some notion of anything. It seems the winds still tunes his cape to victory even when the air is stagnant. The emerald dragonstone glimmers in his hand, but that was of no importance. His figure -- the same from six years ago -- seems stalwart in comparison to his own, and in comparison to the men he surrounds himself with.

Their conversations were forgettable: Darius stole for the same motivation any tea leaf would, was clearly having a fantastic time without Therion (and looked the part too, though Therion would not say it aloud), and had an army under his iron grip. The entire while, Therion could not get past how -- even though he looked the absolute same -- he could have the speed to get the stone first (that voice chides him,  **_you could have been here faster. Look where that bite of apple got you_ ** ). He departs with slicing remarks (faster than he could retort with a wittier comeback), tossing his cape nonchalantly and leaving his latest heist to his new right-hand man: Gareth.

And new he was. As they clash blades amongst the sand dunes -- H’aanit, Primrose, and Alfyn took charge against the reinforcements -- Therion watches as his opponent swings his blade with fervo. He has no refinement in his speed and evasion, although they were enough to keep Therion alert. He should be focused on proving he could hold his own without Darius. Yet his observations deter elsewhere: how his fingers tremble just slightly with each turn; breath heavy with fatigue; eyes drooping and rising with his opponent’s movements. Underneath his purple headscarf, his collarbone juts out unnaturally in parallel to Therion’s; wrist bones displayed proudly in the name of Lord Darius. Gareth becomes aware of his gaze, and soon finds himself tucking his scarf further around him in the midst of battle, breath faltering.

“What’s there to hide?” Therion could not help but call out between breaths. Their scuffles halt and a brief silence passes between them, save for a grunt from Primrose, who finally manages to land a dagger at a henchman’s jugular. The poor soul drops to the ground, eyes unmoving at the dancer’s horrifying grace. Gareth seems to be scowling at him, fingers gripping the scarf in a similar manner. “You seem awfully intent on hiding yourself.”

“And you seem the same for having a blade in your chest,” he responds defensively, in a similar dialect to Darius. “Quite the observer, aren’t we? Are feelings of long lost partnership returning to ye?” Therion spins his dagger, readjusting it to aim for his collarbone. It almost slips from his grasp.

“Tell me something, as his right-hand man. What does he teach you about speed?” He raises a brow, bouncing on his heels.    


“Enough that you can’t keep up with me.” He charges forward with his dagger brandished, swiping in a wide arch toward Therion. He stumbles backward, jerking his dagger upward in defense and nicking his thumb. Gareth hisses in pain and hops back a few feet, blood dripping immensely in the sands, despite the light wound. Out of the corner of their eyes, H’aanit lands an arrow in the final henchmen, sending them howling to the ground before they become as silent as their friends. A weapon clunking on the ground behind him makes him aware of Alfyn’s presence. 

“Really? That paper cut says otherwise.” Gareth growls in his direction, wiping the blood on his headscarf. More formed in its place, dripping down his finger. Although it started like an ember, a searing panic begins to find fuel in his heart, if the paltry wound is any indication to Gareth’s condition. The memory from ten years ago replays again, a small theory circulating. He isn’t sure if he wants to know the answer, but it saves him the trouble of choking it from Darius. “He must treat you like something special if you’re his right-hand man, eh? Especially when you fail?”

“...I’ve yet to fail.”  _ You already have. You just don’t know it.  _

“And when you succeed? Does he treat you to a royal banquet? Does he give you a lengthy speech on his appreciation of your dedication to his well-being? Does he share his dreams of the future with you, and do they include you? Does…” Gareth remains silent as he catches his breath, and a knowing glance passes between them. The axe shifts behind him uncomfortably, but Therion pays it no heed. “Does he really give a damn toward you?” He nods fervently, but the undetectable emotions in his eyes tells Therion everything. 

“Why would he make me his right-hand man if he didn’t?” Meant to strike a nerve, shown in how he swings his blade again toward Therion. But it is much sloppier, no longer carrying its prior speed. Despite having no breath, Therion sidesteps and quickly brings his dagger to Gareth’s throat. The blade slices it enough to draw blood, but not to kill. He hears the other man’s breath catch, eyes frozen on the dagger’s hilt. Therion brings himself to his ear in his daze, keeping his voice low to spare the others from hearing.

“ _ No training ourselves to expect the good life until the opportunity arises.  _ Sound familiar?” No response, other than a sharp inhale. “We’re the same, you and I. Both following the same path to Galdera’s chambers.” He adjusts the dagger slightly, blade digging deeper. Gareth utters a choked groan, attempting to grasp his mantle and tear him away. “Consider this a mercy from one broken man to the next. At least you’ll have fragments of yourself to hold in hell.” With a quick flick of his wrist, the blade splatters crimson into the sands. At the rate it cascades from the wound, it was a surefire execution. 

“...Lord...Darius…” His body drops to the ground, as did Therion’s dagger. Eyes flash to the exit Darius used. Although he hears footsteps surrounding him (and knows a strong hand reaches for him; always has, always will), he does not turn to face them as he pulls his mantle closer, lungs heaving in what air it could and shouldering them away. The pains in his abdomen scream a new reality, but he ignores them as well.

_ I will be faster next time, Darius. I have to be.  _

* * *

He knows he’s garnered unwanted attention when he demands they trek to Bolderfall that evening.

In Noblecourt, he managed to skate by with only bringing one companion along (he was not fast enough to avoid Alfyn’s constant inquiring; he regrets it, for he got too concerned and now prodded where he pleased). This time, he must drag along those that witnessed the entire scenario; of course, through Alfyn’s request. The momentary glance their shared back at Wellspring’s inn as Therion slammed a fist on the table, demanding the trek to Bolderfall come above other locations, was disconcerting. It did not help that Olberic seconded this opinion, knowing what danger Therion would throw himself into. 

Even for keeping his distance, they still seem to know him so well. And yet they can all be at ease with each other, sharing the same food and drink? It astounded him. It made him sick.

Thankfully, H’aanit and Primrose learned long ago not to pry in Therion’s affairs. They simply agreed to follow his footsteps and keep to themselves during important discussions. Of course, should the matter of an enemy arise, they were more than willing to pull out their weapons and practice. Especially Primrose, who seemed to train her dagger specifically into the chest cavity. Almost as if she were preparing to deliver the grand finale herself. It made sense: both had important business to attend to in Stillsnow; one of the compromises Therion made in bringing them along.

Yet this did not stop either of them from grousing on how fast Therion kept pacing himself as they bolted through the Sunlands and Riverlands, breaking past the threshold to the Cliftlands in a record two days. Places they would normally drop by for a visit are discarded for the notion of reaching Bolderfall as quickly as possible. Breaks they could have taken to regain their energy with food (what a waste) are ignored for pushing forward. Crunching sounds from the sands and grass beneath them align with three crunches from rations Ophilia prepared ahead of their departure.

His stomach growls but he ignores it. Time and again Alfyn offers something; anything to eat, but he shrugs away his misunderstanding. His heart begins to ache with something far greater than the panic; something he cannot quite ignore but chooses to push past. The cold is everlasting in every location; every breeze sends him scrambling in his mantle and digging his chin into his scarf. Every battle has him gasping for air yet he never stops to take it in properly. His throat begs to be quenched, eyes pleading to be closed for a few moments, but he ignores it. He has to. 

Even if he knows exactly what Darius did to him, he can’t find it in himself to stop. 

On the threshold of Bolderfall, Alfyn stands imposingly in front of Therion, crossing his arms and demanding they rest the night through before entering the city at dawn. Much as the voice in his head screams how they cannot afford that, the majority override his dissent. He can see the relief in their eyes as he finishes preparing the fire, Primrose tending to her calloused heels and H’aanit roasting an array of birdians. What they don’t seem to notice is the languid posture Therion carries himself away from the group with. Creating that fire took more of a toll than he was willing to let them believe.  

Uncomfortably settled in a crevice between two boulders overlooking the canyon, Therion sits and finds his hands wandering toward different parts of his body. Fingers pinch the irritated skin under the bangle, but they also scratch at his wrists and shoulders. One hand eventually reaches under his mantle and heavy tunic, running over the expanse of his torso. A ghost of a smile dances upon his lips for every bone his finger could trace, and it fades upon being able to pinch the skin between his fingers. An audible sigh escapes his lips as a second hand roams his torso, pinching specifically at his abdomen with vigor.

_ It’s always there. How can I get rid of it? If I push myself harder, will it disappear? Will it get me to Darius faster and done with this task?  _ Always the questions, never the answers. His abdomen cries underneath the skin, but Therion learned long ago how to tune it out. Think of the glory he could gain from one less bite. Nostalgic heists from years past came to mind: the escape from the Ciannos had been the most thrilling yet, highlighting his teenage self at a primed speed. Receiving praise in its kindest form: a large bite of an apple rather than small, and a rare treat in a shared mug. 

“Found ya.” 

Therion is on his feet immediately (mistake. Mistake!) and then hands flailing to grasp onto a nearby boulder. The blood rushes through him suddenly, unable to provide an adequate amount to his brain. His heart races in different directions, on the verge of exploding. In that second, strong arms loop around his shoulders and waist, steadying his feet and leaning him carefully against a sturdy wall (or what Therion assumes is one in his warped perception). “Didn’t mean to make ya stand so fast. Sorry ‘bout that...here, take it easy. Don’t move so much. You’ll exacerbate your symptoms.” Eventually the familiar buzzing in his head fades and his heart calms to a somewhat respectable pace. It’s only then Therion frowns and gives a glance to the person who holds him.

“You’re finally learning to be a thief, Alfyn,” he mumbles in jest. A strained low chuckle in response.

“Gods, I could never. I’d still trip over every pebble in the road.”

“Why are you even here? I thought you were setting up the tents.” He must be closer to Alfyn than he thinks. He sighs against the exposed skin around his neck, chilling it to his core. 

“H’aanit called for ya numerous times. She roasted up all them birdians and is servin’ them now. Smell mighty delicious with the herbs she used. Didn’t want ya to miss her famous cookin’. I know that when ya do indulge, that’s your go-to.”  _ If that’s what you choose to believe.  _ Therion shakes his head and finally pushes himself away from Alfyn’s grasp. 

“I’ll pass. Primrose needs it more. Did you see how she clawed at her heels?” There is a moment of inexplicable silence between them before Alfyn lets out a trying exhale. Therion keeps his gaze to the canyon, fingers secretly tucking the mantle closer. The sun had set long ago behind the horizon.

“I think she’d say you need it more, Therion. Your skin’s awful cold for a man who has pushed us vigorously to this point.”  **_Not fast enough. You need to be faster._ **

“It’s cold in the Cliftlands. Temperatures drop lower than you think.”  

“Because you haven’t given the time to replenish your energy. Food warms ya up in more ways than one. Now c’mon. The birdian’s gonna get cold, and you know how H’aanit is about food once its past its prime.” If there was a hand reaching for him, Therion shoulders away and shakes his head. 

“As I said, I’ll pass.” 

“You’ve had nothin’ to eat all day, Therion. That’s abnormal, even for you.” 

“Had a large breakfast. You know I get up with Olberic for morning training.” Well-fed on intense training and the sandy air surrounding them as their weapons clashed in the silence of dawn, but  **_not what he wants to hear. You need to tell him what he wants_ ** _.  _ He shakes his head, turning on his heel and focusing his gaze on a peculiar stray string on Alfyn’s vest. It flails about with the calm breeze painting goosebumps on Therion’s skin. 

“Olberic wasn’t even up when we left. I could hear his snorin’ from the checkout desk.” 

“Ended training early. Said he was not feeling well; strained muscle from his duel with Erhardt.” Out of his lies, that was the only truth to be found. Even if Alfyn furrows his brow and has the inkling to deny it.  “Alfyn, there’s no need to pester me about this. Go back and enjoy your meal. As you said, H’aanit will complain if it gets cold.”

“I ain’t goin’ until you do, Therion. I’m serious. You’re startin’ to worry me.” 

“There’s nothing to get yourself worked up over.” 

“That right there is enough to work me up.” His eyes move from the strand to the surrounding boulders, no longer glowing. There was a small settlement among the red bluffs just a ways above them. **_It will test your speed. If you can get up there, you can let this slide._** “It’s not just that. Therion...you’ve been avoidin’ everyone a lot lately. Don’t think I didn’t notice ya slip away from me back in Wellspring.” He shuffles to the side, fingers loosening from the mantle and preparing to reach for the boulder. 

“You didn’t seem to mind much. Quite the contrary: you were surprisingly at ease haggling terms of surrender with Tressa. What were those terms, by the way? Something that made her pout, I bet.”  **_Speed._ ** He feigns a smile. “Stole her Eldrite and promised to return it? Would have been better off with that tattered journal…” 

“Don’t change the subject.” He leans ever so forward, then pounces at the boulders like a chameleon blending into its surroundings. Although there was a quick scuffle under him, Therion manages to scurry upwards before a hand could jerk his ankle down. On the safety of the hanging boulder, he could observe freely how Alfyn attempts to climb with the same celerity. But in his frustration, he could not manage more than a few feet. If he was not so out of breath, he would laugh and taunt the man. “Therion, get down here! We’re not finished!”

“I think we were when I gave you my answer. See you in the morning.” He slumps against the boulders, clutching at his mantle again as he hears Alfyn’s boots scrape against the settlement, complementing his frustrated grunts of dissent. After a few more minutes of effort, he hears a defeated sigh and footsteps fading away.

“You better be right, Therion,” he hears Alfyn mutter aloud as he sulks away. “Gods, I hope ya are.”

Above him, only a few stars wink at him and revel in his victory.  **_You were faster. But it’s not enough. Improve yourself. You know how you can. Nothing can stop you so long as you aim for this alone._ ** Therion awards himself a pleased little hum as he adjusts more comfortably against his makeshift campground, settling his bursting heart back under his ribcage and adjusting to another sleepless night. How can he sleep? It was the first victory he had in some time over someone. It is evidence that what he is doing is working; that putting more effort into raising his speed yields results. 

It was proof Darius had not been wrong. That killing Gareth (faster than he could react) was not a mistake. That he can finally achieve something out of the nothing he’s endured for so long.

And for that, Therion did not sleep a wink. For the first time, he did not mind.

* * *

If Wellspring had been difficult, the wilds to Northreach were  _ unbearable.  _

No matter how he grabs at his mantle and scarf, nothing can stop the deep-rooted chill from spreading. Goosebumps make permanent homes on his skin as he shakes violently with each hurried step. Although it makes his task of reaching the city ( **_faster_ ** ) more arduous, the cold is benign at masking his own shivers: each member of their group struggles to maintain warmth. Poor Primrose -- dressed to the nines in her dancer garb -- stays latched at H’aanit’s side in hopes of keeping warm. Even Linde weaving through their feet struggles to shake away a chill. 

But he doesn’t let it stop him. Darius is there, and Therion needs to be  **_faster_ ** _.  _ He can’t have anything less.

Even if the snow falls heavier at times, nipping at his skin and clutching onto the remains of color it holds, Therion takes each quivering step in stride. Even though the snow often sinks him into its drifts, forcing him to scramble from its clutches while refusing Alfyn’s help, he presses forward. Even though he gasps for air at each turn, unable to process its bitterness to quell the light sensation in his head, he makes no hesitation to shrug it off and keep going. 

Every monster that dares stand in their way, Therion puts all of his efforts to speed by. They are no longer mere ratkins or baby foxes: lizardkings and war wolves growl and poke their weapons at every instance they can. And for every battle that passes, the pressure in his heart grows stronger. The searing panic it had embedded is long forgotten: it sends Therion discreetly clutching at it after every battle, reminding himself it will be worth it. The pain now (just like his abdominal pains) can always be tuned out. And it would fade with progress. 

But it never did. And he was not fast enough to keep away from Alfyn’s prying eyes. Unable to control its beating, Therion keeps a permanent hand on it as they travel. It becomes noticeable in battle with one less dagger thrown at the monsters, even if they won all the same. As Primrose would scurry to retrieve her daggers and H’aanit would collect her arrows, Alfyn would shoot him an extremely worried glance, hand half-raised in preparation to interject. And Therion always shrugs it away. He did not have time for concern. There was no reason it should be there. He just needed to be--

“From thine left, Therion!” 

An icy tongue shoots at him from the bushes, to which Therion stumbles away in surprise. Two Reptalios (stalwart, hideous creatures of the Frostlands) eye them curiously across the snow drift. The other swipes its tongue toward Alfyn, who parries it with his axe. The chameleon-like creature hisses in pain, scuttling forward to better utilize its claws. H’aanit is at the vanguard in moments, swinging her axe in a widespread motion to prevent the creature from approaching. “On thine guard!” she barks, breaking through the creature’s defenses and aiming her axe toward its friend. “Usen thine axe, Alfyn! Stay behind, Therion! Thou as well, Primrose!” 

**_No. These Reptalios are merely obstacles in the way. You need to--!_** The pressure in his heart skyrockets as he charges forward with dagger in hand, sending it flying toward the creature’s eye. It shrieks in pain alongside its friend -- being struck down by H’aanit’s fury and Linde’s claws -- and flinches back into the snow drift. Equipping another dagger, Therion hustles forward again, planning to take out its other eye for payment. Thankfully, the two creatures realize their mistake and scurry back into the bushes with their tails between their legs. But are they bushes? Everything was becoming a spectrum of white around him and the pressure in his heart _is too fast...it’s too fast!_ In the background he can barely make out H’aanit’s praise to Linde or Alfyn’s brisk footsteps toward him. **_Get away, get awa--_**

And then he’s falling. 

Everything disappears in an instant, save for a lone memory. That’s right...he had fallen just like this years ago, hadn’t he? Listless and unaware of anything but his failure to meet expectations, and an agonizing pain in his heart. Perhaps they are one and the same? The thought dissipates moments after its creation, leaving nothing behind in its wake. There is no cold. There is no speed. Only a ubiquitous white that swallows him completely with the intent on never spitting him up.

The last sensation he’s aware of is a strong pair of arms breaking its boundaries, desperate to save him from the cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Actually, those reptalios gave me worse trouble than hoary bears while heading to Stillsnow (and I loathe those bears). Poor Cyrus got wrecked by their attacks, so I wrote my frustrations with them in this.
> 
> Of course, does that distract from what just happened? ...Cue that tag I mentioned earlier.


	2. Responses

The first breath he takes -- so similar to the first fall -- is pained. ****  
** **

But not the sort where his ribs were cracked from an abrupt landing. The bustling pressure in his heart lingers, but not as grand as the swath of heaviness surrounding his entire body. Pains he had ignored for countless moons resurge instantly, making his exhale resemble a wheezed groan. His eye opens slowly, observing a bedside table lined with dozens of vials containing different herbs and broths. Bowls tower beside him, some dripping with a brownish fluid at the rim. A large pitcher of water is adjacent to it, cups stacked in greater numbers. Only a faint light in the corner gives detail to these items; the rest is obscured.  _ This...isn’t... _ ****  
** **

“Ah, you awaken. Lady Primrose will be relieved.” ****  
** **

His eye flicker to a woman sitting behind the table, fingers tangled in her knitting. Long black hair ran down her shoulders, covering parts of a suggestive dress. Her eyes shine with a sad hope, although her lips are curled in a warm smile. She sets her knitting aside, standing from a rocking chair and adjusting the folds of her dress. Although she appears as a woman of Primrose’s area of expertise, she presents a dignified aura.  ****  
** **

“You know...Primrose…?” he musters out, voice cracking from disuse. The woman smiles with a curtsy. ****  
** **

“Excuse my improper manners. I am Adrianna, former servant to House Azelhart.” The last name seems familiar, but it is not in Therion’s place to question her employment. Adrianna moves out of his line of sight. Therion carefully turns his head to follow her, wincing at a terrible ache in his neck. Directly in front of his bed is a door cracked open. Her fingers grip it softly, opening it and allowing a heavy shadow to cross the floor. ****  
** **

“Where...am I?” ****  
** **

“You reside in Stillsnow’s inn.”  _ Stillsnow…? Right…we were trekking to Northreach. Does that mean...I…?  _  “Sir Alaic, would you be so kind as to fetch Lady Susanna? He has awoken.” He hears a terse grunt from behind the door, the shadow retreating from the open crack. Adrianna returns to his bedside, fingers grasping the edges of the bedsheets smothering his form. To her left, a fire blazes unrelentingly in a corner. “Are you cold? Perhaps in need of another blanket?”  ****  
** **

He’s not sure how he feels, and has no chance to respond. The door opens wider this time, admitting a stalwart man and a frail woman alongside a small breeze. Therion curls in on himself as a deep shiver passes through his veins, to which he discovers his mantle and scarf have been removed. Panic sears through his heart again, eye darting wildly in search of them. Adrianna immediately straightens herself and strides toward the door, peering through its crack and eyes lit toward something beyond his vision. The frail woman approaches him, the corners of her eyes crinkled with prior excitement and fingers reaching for numerous vials upon his bedside table. ****  
** **

“How good of you to rejoin us again, Therion,” she speaks in a firm tone, pulling up a vial and a large jar of the same brownish liquid. A putrid smell escapes as she opens it, pouring the substance from the vial into its contents. “I bet you’re wondering how I know that.” ****  
** **

“Lady Primrose, please! I understand your sentiments, but refrain until Lady Susanna has finished,” Adrianna whispers, unable to contain her jubilation. Alaic loiters by the door, holding a hand to its knob with a stoic gaze. A chuckle erupts from Susanna’s lips.  ****  
** **

“Did we rile them up? Ah, perhaps we should have been more secretive. Alaic, keep them at ease until I have finished.” Another terse grunt before Alaic slips through the door, Adrianna at his heels and hands outstretched toward her liege. It clicks softly behind them, to which Susanna chuckles again with less fervor. “Suppose it cannot be helped. It’s the first signs of laughter I’ve heard from those three in two days…” Therion remains silent as she places the vial aside, swirling the jar before settling in the rocking chair. “Has Adrianna told you where you are?” ****  
** **

“...Stillsnow. But...how…?” **_You failed._** “What...happened…?” **_You know the answer._** Susanna’s smile fades completely as she lowers the jar. Different particles rotate around its circumference. ** **  
****

“Do you remember the where you were heading previously?” ****  
** **

“Northreach…” he immediately answers. “We were...gonna make it…” **_Those creatures and those hands were faster than you._** “There were creatures...and then nothing…” ** **  
****

“You remembering fighting before collapsing, correct?” Susanna clears her throat. “Therion, you are the victim of severe malnutrition. Hence, your heart has atrophied to where it could no longer function. That is the ‘nothing’ you speak of.”  _ Malnutrition…? That’s... _ **_no...that’s not the issue._ ** ****  
** **

“So I...died?” A moment’s hesitation before a somber nod, solidifying her following words. ****  
** **

“You were not breathing for a short while.” She takes up two cups and sets them next to the jar before reaching for the pitcher. “You are very lucky. Your friends are quite clever in precarious situations: using a thunderbird spell and chest compressions to recommence your heart in those golden moments brought you here today. And of course, Ms. Azelhart carries as much speed as she does grace.” She stands again, taking up the jar and working her way to settle adjacent to him. “This supplement contains many nutrients your body requires for a full recovery. Can you swallow it all?”  **_You want to redeem yourself? You know what you must do, as you’ve always done._ ** He shakes his head, eyeing the door. Numerous whispers sound off behind it, although the words themselves are obscured. ****  
** **

“Can I...see them…?” he whispers. It was loud enough to draw silence from the other side. “Please...I’ve likely worried...them sick. And they’re...impatient...” A grunt from Alaic, supposedly strained. Susanna gives him a long look, eyes boring into his own and decrypting his words. They were almost knowing, chilling his gut to its core. Still, she grants him a warm smile and places the supplement aside. ****  
** **

“Oh, I suppose. But only for a few minutes.” She turns to the door. “Let them loose, Alaic!”  ****  
** **

The door cautiously opens at first, but soon bursts wide open, admitting suddenly to his bedside strong hands taking his own into them, eyes shining in relief and utmost concern (were those tears...?), and a quivering lip doing its best to hold a smile. His hair is disheveled, tainted with a brownish tint rather than gold. Therion is not sure if he’s ever seen Alfyn this worked up over any of his prior injuries -- really, for  _ anyone’s  _ injuries. Behind him, H’aanit leans next to a frosted window and Primrose places a trembling hand on his shoulder, eyes pooling with similar sentiments. Linde rests her chin where his feet laid limp, beady eyes boring into his own.  ****  
** **

“How ya feelin’, Therion?” Alfyn inquires in a soft tone. It’s on the verge of breaking, and something strange overwhelms his eased panic: guilt. To the best of his ability, he shrugs and feigns a smile, knowing Susanna stands now near the fire to fuel its flickers. ****  
** **

“...Fair...I suppose…” That earns him a low, strained chuckle from Alfyn. ****  
** **

“Better than bad, eh? Been worried sick for ya. Dunno if I’ve ever seen H’aanit and Linde so worked up over somethin’ before!” Linde releases a dissented purr, and her master an awkward groan.  ****  
** **

“Thou exaggereth, Alfyn. Compareth to thee, my expressions befitten that of Olberic.” This time, Primrose also giggles as she settles on the ground, leaning her head against the bed frame. ****  
** **

“Okay,  _ maybe  _ I freaked a little, but that doesn’t excuse you provokin’ dozens of townsfolk! Gods, how they screamed upon seein’ the giant snow leopard chargin’ into battle!” The laughter fades into silence. Alfyn’s eyes do not break from his own, and Therion swears he can see the questions bursting from them. They both knew they needed asking, which Therion would not be able **_to avoid._ ** But for whatever reason -- and against his normal behavior -- Alfyn restrains from inquiring. He remains silent, hand moving occasionally to brush a stray hair on his forehead.  ****  
** **

It’s  _ too  _ silent. Susanna finishes refuelling the fire, set on dismissing his guests and having him ingest that gods-awful creation.  **_That will slow you down._ ** ****  
** **

“How...do you know...Susanna? Who’s...the scruffy bodyguard?” he decides to ask. Surprisingly, H’aanit’s eyes light up at the question. She sports a mischievous smile, eyeing Susanna across the room.  ****  
** **

“Susanna hast been a friend of my master for many moons. Thou hast heard the stories of him, no? As fervent a tavern goer as thee and Alfyn.” This lightens the silence as Alfyn’s soft laughter returns. Encouraged, H’aanit bashfully weaves her tale of encountering Susanna upon arriving in Stillsnow. Therion closes his eye and listens for as long as he can -- much as he despises sappy stories, H’aanit knew how to construct a tale. But his mind soon wanders, revelling in its temporary victory as the story took its turn to Alaic. To be safe, he plasters an amused smirk on his lips, blinking every minute to signal awareness. A practiced technique he learned years ago.  ****  
** **

**_For now, you succeeded. But you cannot let this stop you._** Therion reflects upon his brief instance of guilt. It inserts a strange weight in his heart, adding to the shred of him that knew what Darius did was wrong, screaming for him to stop. Has his very heart stopping in its tracks been a consequence of his advice? It certainly did not appear benign, if Alfyn squeezing his hand every few seconds was any indication. **_Fool. Remember what you are. What you need. You still have more to lose to be faster. What power have you to be doubting those words?_** Suppose he had none.  ** **  
****

Sleep does not come easy after that, especially as Alfyn refused to leave his side. Susanna allows it, if only to lower his stubbornness to accept assistance in other regards (there were still years of pains they secretly wish to heal). When it does, it’s with enough doubt to form the same questions Alfyn silently begs for answers to. ****  
** **

* * *

Even so, Therion still put Darius’ teachings to practice as often as possible, knowing it garners more attention than before.  ****  
** **

Three days spent here was three days they could have arrived in Northreach. With enough speed, they could already be trekking to this city again for H’aanit and Primrose’s concerns, dragonstone in hand and Therion’s point proven to Darius and himself. However, almost every person within ten feet of his bedside refused to let him leave the inn room. Therion conjures as many excuses as he could with enough energy: the inn costs are too much (Susanna haggled it to non-existent); they’re wearing Susanna thin (how the woman had so much energy was outstanding); they’ll run out of supplies (leave it to the Whitewood to have everything needed).  ****  
** **

Since his return to consciousness, he always finds someone lingering in the room to observe him. Most times -- aggravating as it was -- Alfyn situates himself in a chair beside him and drabbles on inane topics to keep him distracted. He finds H’aanit on some early mornings, stroking Linde’s fur by the fire, and very rarely did he see Primrose lurking in the shadows brooding to her dagger. Often, Alfyn is fast asleep at his bedside, body slumped equally between the chair and bedside. His hair has become completely undone from its knot, dark shadows forming under his eyes despite sleep, and it only fuels the festering doubt in Therion’s heart.  ****  
** **

For every time Susanna suggests drinking the damned supplement (he still did not know what it was made of), he retorts with a trite excuse, fueling his urge to run away. It was not just that: other soft foods each companion offers, he dismisses it. Occasionally the matter is dropped within seconds; other times, the arguments become enough so as to spill the supplement onto the freshly-changed linen with a quick backhand (Therion ends up paying more for those than for the prospective room). Susanna is the only one to question why. Her knowing look becomes more unbearable with each passing day.  ****  
** **

The worst part of it all was perhaps his inability to move. He still has no clue as to where they hid his mantle and scarf, leading him to cover as much of himself as he could with the linen. He drags it as he tries to sit on the edge of the bed, heart racing and head light in attempting to stand. However, he’s almost immediately ushered back to bed (most often by Alfyn; his strength being too much for Therion to handle). The only exception is for the restroom; even then that required an escort. Not only did Susanna suggest this idea, but Alfyn enforces it with a iron grip that grew by the day. ****  
** **

These thoughts and more swirl in Therion’s head on the dusk of their third day. The sun and moon are never prominent in Stillsnow; only the dim light passing through the clouds gave indication to the time. A quick glance at his surroundings suggests the perfect environment for his doubts to fester again: Alfyn slumps once more in the chair with his head propped by his elbows, snoring softly. Susanna is due to arrive for another thrilling round of drink-the-supplement; Therion already curled into himself as much as possible to avoid her gaze. ****  
** **

**_The longer we sit here, the longer we put off Northreach. Don’t they understand that? We need to be faster; we certainly cannot afford whatever’s in that supplement to hinder us down._** Yet they insist on him drinking it, claiming it will do him wonders. Attributing it to rebuilding “lost muscle” in his limbs and abdomen; especially around his heart. **_It will only regrow everything you lost._** And yet they can eat and drink freely to focus on their tasks. Nobody forces them to eat so little. And the strength and speed they carry to battle... ** _there you go again, doubting--_** ** **  
****

“If you were cold, H’aanit would provide something warm.” ****  
** **

He flinches momentarily before relaxing only slightly at the sight of Primrose exiting the shadows. She adorns numerous of H’aanit’s furs, yet still shivers in the light. His small exhale of relief quickly reverts to a frown. “It’s not that. I thought you and H’aanit were chasing that herb-de-grace, or whatever it was.”  ****  
** **

“Already did. H’aanit’s with Susanna brewing the tincture, as well as your evening meal,” she whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed with a small creak, eyes lingering on Alfyn’s form. “They wanted me to find Alfyn for advice on a brewing technique. Figured the best place to check was here. But I wouldn’t dare wake him now.”   ****  
** **

“Maybe you should so he can stop taking snoozes here and do them elsewhere. Not a good babysitter in that regard.” A frown tugs on her lips and a finger swirls around one of her numerous bangles, gaze dropping to the bedside table. ****  
** **

“I wouldn’t be too upset with him about that. He’s doing everything he can to help because he has the utmost concern for you.” Her finger trail from her bangles to the beads decorating her dancer’s garb. If Therion pays close attention, specks of blood paint them different from their usual golden glow. “As are the rest of us. Adrianna says you’re being quite troublesome, refusing assistance and discarding the supplements Susanna’s prepared. Funds are disappearing from our savings to replace these.” ****  
** **

“Do you have any idea what’s in those? If you or Alfyn tried to convince me it was like chocolate milk, I wouldn’t believe you for a second. It’s repulsive.”  ****  
** **

“That...may be so, but they carry lots of nutrients to help you recover. The longer you avoid them, the slower this will take.” **_She’s wrong. You just need to leave. It will all be better once you’re in Northreach._** She exhales a soft sigh, fingers now trailing over the different creases of the bedsheets. “You know I respect your boundaries, and I don’t pry into your affairs, but...Therion, I can’t help but wonder what’s going through your head these days. If you’re really aware of the severity of your condition.” Her gaze returns, so similar to Alfyn’s: inquiring, desperate, **_fast._** “Just what are you thinking up there?”  ** **  
****

Biting his urge to run, he buries his face in the pillow, blocking Primrose from view. “As you said, none of your business.”  ****  
** **

“Have you considered the consequences of refusing those supplements? Do you know what the consequences of malnutrition are, Therion?” **_You get things done._** “What you’re facing are the consequences. You always complain how someone has to watch over you like a birdian, right? How someone has to escort you and keep you recumbent? Your muscles are too weakened to even take care of yourself. Without those supplements, those restrictions will never be lifted. And if you don’t drink those supplements…” Her tone morphs into a mixture of anger and grief. “Therion, do you realize you were so close to death that day? How the lack of food in your body led you down such a dangerous road? How much that...it scared us so much...”

_ You know she’s right _ comes a new voice in his head. It’s different from the one feeding him encouragement to follow his teachings. A part of it sounds so similar to Alfyn, yet it’s very much his own voice. Therion could only imagine it as a white-donned figure, with Cyrus’ calculating stare yet Alfyn’s kindness and empathy.  _ You can’t avoid the truth. You’ve known it since Wellspring.  _ Therion shakes his head softly; in part to dismiss the new voice and the other to disapprove Primrose’s statement. He hears another creak as Primrose adjusts her position on the bed.  ****  
** **

“...Really?” Compared to before, it sounds shattered. “Therion...I just want to understand why you keep hurting yourself like this. It just...it doesn’t add up, you know? Everything that’s happened in the last two weeks...I don’t understand...”  ****  
** **

How was it hurting him when it got him this far?  **_It isn’t._ ** Yet Primrose insisted it was. Primrose is not one to tread lightly around the truth, for only she could possibly understand the pains of betrayal.  _ She sees this as betraying yourself, as you know you have done for so long.  _ **_You have only benefited from what you have done. That is an asset. And you’ll benefit from refusing more. You’ll lose more to gain more._ ** _ Could Gareth say the same? He lost following the teachings you have abided for so long, in more ways than one.  _ **_You beat him because you were faster. You cannot deny results._ ** _ Your friends, however, have done fine without these teachings and those results. Therion, you know you cannot ignore this. _ ****  
** **

He groans slightly, reaching a hand to a temple and massaging it. The voices argue back and forth in his mind; for every argument there is a counter. The bed creaks heavily this time as Primrose lifts herself, footsteps fading back into the shadows. “I think there’s more than you’re letting on, Therion. It’s not just malnutrition, is it? ...You don’t need to respond. I already know the answer. And I think Alfyn and H’aanit do too. Just...ask yourself this: whatever you’re trying to reach...has it been worth all of this?” The footsteps disappear, solidified by the door clicking shut in the distance. ****  
** **

After a few moments of assured silence, Therion lifts his face and turns his gaze to Alfyn, unmoving in the chair.  _ His concerns for you are not unfounded, similar to Primrose. And would it be in his best interest to lie?  _ **_He’s prevented you the most from losing more. Always asking questions, always trying to make you fail._ ** _ He wants what’s best for you. He wants to understand so that he can help. He wants to help you achieve what you desire without taking such drastic measures.  _ **_He doesn’t know what you need. Only you do._ ** ****  
** **

...Suppose that brought up the billion leaf question, most prominent in his mind as he closes his eye: _ just what have you been reaching for? What could you gain since Darius pushed you off the precipice?  _ ****  
** **

* * *

It all comes to a head three days later.  ****  
** **

Therion is not sure of the time, but it came to his attention that Alaic was charged with watching over him. The others busied themselves with either rest or Primrose’s task of locating a member of the Crows. Linde remains with him, curled up against his figure and watching the door with lidded eyes. Throughout his stay, Therion learned numerous things regarding the stoic bodyguard. For one, he did not appreciate being surprised by wild snow leopards (H’aanit explained his bewilderment upon seeing the snow leopard; although the battle was arduous, it was enough to knock him out). With Linde present, a plan formulates in his mind.  ****  
** **

Very carefully, Therion rolls his legs over the edge of the bed, carrying the sheets with him. Linde’s paw softly nudges at his fingers, urging him not to leave. To that, he only smiles and reaches to a drawer on the other bedside table, fingers grasping onto a stick with a string tied to one end. In one of his “thought fits” as of late, his fingers happened to discover a neat pile of junk remaining in his pockets. Odds and ends though they were, it catches Linde’s attention instantly. Her eyes waver as he swerves the string here and there, clawing ever closer to her newest prey. Therion pushes himself off of the bed, keeping the sheets clenched in a fistful around him.  ****  
** **

“That’s it…” he drawls, backing toward the door. “Just a little more. I promise you can have this wonderful little toy if you just follow my lead…” Backing softly against the door, he takes a short breath. Despite H’aanit defeating Alaic, he still proved a tough warrior. If he moves too slowly or blindly, the warrior would certainly clutch him by the wrist and inform Susanna. He listens ever so carefully for one of his terse grunts, noting it to his left after a few seconds. Holding the sheets tight, he flings open the door and throws the stringed stick toward his left. “Go get it!”  ****  
** **

Therion hears a few different noises as he darted wildly in the other direction, careful not to stumble over the sheets. Alaic lets out a panicked yelp and his footsteps fumble in a tango with Linde, clawing and prancing at the string that lands somewhere in his vicinity. She, in turn, purrs excited as her claws scratched the floor. He possibly hears a booming thud, but he cannot be certain in his stupor. All the better for him: if Alaic cannot come after him, he has a better chance of fulfilling his urge.  ****  
** **

Unfortunately, Stillsnow’s inn is much larger than Flamesgrace’s. It saw numerous visitors from those travelling through the snow-capped mountains and woodlands of Victor’s Hollow. As a result, the inn expanded to house double the residents of Flamesgrace, despite the church’s presence. Therion whizzes by dozens of doors, all similarly adorned with a number and golden doorknob rather than a handle and bellchime. The end of the hall approaches fast with a wooden wall, in which Therion has no other option but to turn the corner through another doorway leading toward a faint firelight…. ****  
** **

...And directly to where the others are waiting (he presumes). ****  
** **

“Hey, Therion, take it easy!” Alfyn starts, one hand halfway to his shoulder. Primrose and H’aanit - situated on opposite couches in front of a stone fireplace - rise to their feet (H’aanit did not appear surprised at his arrival, nor frustrated at Linde’s inability to monitor him). “Everythin’ okay? Ya shouldn’t be out of bed.” Therion steps away from his hand, using the sheets as a shield. ****  
** **

“What are you all doing here? Where are we?” he demands.  ****  
** **

“Easy now. We’re in one of the sittin’ rooms, chattin’ about some things. Why don’t ya sit down? Ya really shouldn’t be movin’ around,” Alfyn responds in a softer voice, a gentle smile gracing his features as he slowly places the hand on his shoulder. Primrose slips around him toward the doorway as Alfyn guides him to the nearest couch. His figure sinks into the plush cushions, sheets draping unceremoniously around him and onto the floor. A clicking sound catches his attention, to which his gaze lands on Primrose easing herself back on the couch. Linde reappears behind her, taking her position next to H’aanit and purring in satisfaction. Alfyn lowers himself next to him, keeping his hand on his shoulder, but moving no further than that. ****  
** **

“Did you just close the door?” Therion questions in a scrutinizing tone. Primrose senses the laced suspicion, for she nods nonchalantly and averts her gaze to the fire. ****  
** **

“Didn’t want other guests to be startled with a man running with his bedsheets. And of course, we know how you hate prying eyes and ears.” He tucks the bed sheets closer.  ****  
** **

“That doesn’t explain why all three of you happened to be here simultaneously.”  ****  
** **

“As I said, we were just chattin’ ‘bout some subjects,” Alfyn reassures him. Therion redirects his gaze to Linde, who lays at her master’s feet facing toward the fire. “Guess I should be askin’ you what you think you’re doin’ up, ‘specially in that kind of rush. Feelin’ light headed or anythin’?”  **_Back with his questions. Get back on track. Give them what they want to hear._ ** ****  
** **

“I’m fine,” he protests (ignoring the dizziness from that celerity). “If I shouldn’t be out of bed, wouldn’t you be pushing to get me back?” Alfyn removes his hand, scratching where his hairline met his neck.  ****  
** **

“We oughta give ya a few minutes to rest ‘fore we take ya back.” His voice trails into silence (a bad habit when feigning normalcy), to which Therion hums in discontent.  **_It didn’t stick._ ** ****  
** **

“...Alfyn, you’re a terrible liar. What do you really want from me?” Alfyn’s gaze becomes calculating as he lowers his hand into his lap, lips pursed in thought before they release a weak chuckle.  ****  
** **

“Gods, I’m that bad, huh?” A sigh replaces it, defeating any treading Alfyn attempted to honor by. The urge to break for the door makes itself known in his mind. “We just wanna...talk, Therion. About what has been happenin’, and what it means goin’ forward.” His presumptions were correct. Immediately he hugs his knees to his chest, fulfilling his urge to hide by poking only his face through the bedsheets and scooting away from Alfyn.  ****  
** **

“...So this was all a ruse to get me to come out?” ****  
** **

“It was my idea,” Primrose interjects. She had taken to twirling one of her decorative beads again, voice seemingly distant. “Don’t blame Alfyn. I...I suggested this talk to the both of them.”  _ They want to help. Don’t you think it’s time you let them?  _ **_Fool. Salvage this. Without his speed, a tea leaf--_ ** ****  
** **

“...Fine. But make it quick.” Primrose’s fingernails slowly dig into her hands, position settling further away from him. H’aanit watches this across from her, yet keeps her focus to Therion. Alfyn clears his throat, clasping his hands together before speaking. ****  
** **

“Alright, how do I start this?”  **_You were never supposed to._ ** _ Listen to his concerns.  _ “I suppose I shouldn’t beat around the bush...Therion, we’re extremely concerned for ya, both physically and emotionally. We’ve noticed over the course of your journey that ya tend to keep away from mealtimes with the group, no matter what events have occurred that day…” He sucks in a quivering breath. “Occasionally, we--no, I’ve noticed ya skipped meals altogether, before exhaustin’ yourself the next day. We bring up these concerns because we wanna help ya, Therion. We wanna do our best by ya.” Therion opens his mouth to retort, but H’aanit’s signal halts him. ****  
** **

“Before thou speaken in defense...please hearen our thoughts,” she speaks tersely. Alfyn nods in gratitude before continuing.  ****  
** **

“We, uh, brought our concerns to Susanna. Since she’s a seer -- er, at least appearin’ as one -- we figured she could help with some diagnosis for all of this. And she suggested somethin’ intriguin’; tell me, Therion, ya ever heard of an eatin’ disorder?”  _ Is that what they call it?  _ **_Don’t believe it for a second._ ** Therion shook his head, fingers carefully trailing up to rub at his temples. “Susanna defines it as abnormal eatin’ patterns often hidin’ somethin’ greater. Like a consequence of another issue. She thinks that’s what goin’ on, and I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t say I agree with her, based on your behaviors these last few days.”  ****  
** **

“Another issue? What do you mean?” Therion asks slowly,  _ but you already know.  _ ****  
** **

“Kinda like...if ya fail to steal somethin’, your primary reaction is gettin’ angry at the person for bein’ too quick. But your secondary reaction is sadness, ‘cause ya wanted the leaves to buy somethin’ nice for a friend, or whatever. The secondary reaction’s more important; it hides the other issues under the skin. In this case, suppose avoidin’ food and exercisin’ ‘til ya break yourself is the primary reaction to somethin’ that occurred, and the secondary reaction has yet to happen.” ****  
** **

“You’re suggesting I have another issue?” He scoffed.  **_They’re too close. Get away._ ** _ Let them in.  _ His urge to run strengthens. “If I knew you were going to assume, I would have stayed in bed.”  ****  
** **

“It’s not an assumption, Therion,” Primrose interrupts in a distant voice. She appears on the verge of lashing out (little droplets of blood trickle down her palms), but her gaze remains steady on the fire. Her breathing is erratic, yet she falls into silence again. ****  
** **

“Therion, as we said, we just wanna help ya. And when ya skip meals and overexercise, instead of comin’ to us with the problems...well, it worries us to pieces.” The urge falters.  ****  
** **

“It shouldn’t worry you. It’s proven beneficial in battle, no?”  **_You idiot. You just slowed yourself down._ ** _ It’s a start. Not a large one, but a start.  _ Silence reigns as they absorb Therion’s words. H’aanit’s gaze becomes stoic and distant, staring off at the far wall. Primrose closes her eyes, fingers dancing between digging into her palms or her exposed thighs. Alfyn’s gaze flickers between him and the fire before them, thumbs twiddling as he takes in a long breath. It’s no surprise he breaks the silence. ****  
** **

“...May I ask somethin’, Therion?” ****  
** **

“There shouldn’t be a question.” Alfyn reaches his hand behind his neck again.  ****  
** **

“I can’t help it. I was just thinkin’ about our encounters in Wellspring...something you said to that right-hand man -- Gareth. If I recall correctly, you said, ‘No trainin’ ourselves to expect the good life until the opportunity arises.’ Ya asked if it sounded familiar, like ya both knew the sayin’ well. I...I guess my question is...was that somethin’ Darius taught ya? Like...a survival technique ya used when ya worked with him?”  **_He knows too much. He will stop you at this rate._ ** _ Or he’ll help you through this. He knows what you know too.  _ **_It’s your fault for getting this deep. You know what that makes you._ ** ****  
** **

“...And if he did?”  ****  
** **

“...I can’t help but think you’ve been followin’ that for a long time. That you’ve trained yourself not to eat so you could achieve somethin’ greater than ya thought ya could. A-And it makes sense, given your state…” ****  
** **

“My body’s perfectly fine, thank you again for the assumption.” ****  
** **

“Then why did you collapse?” Primrose interjects again. “Why have we needed to turn to Adrianna and Susanna so your body could have a sliver of hope to recover? If it was fine, then why is it so...emancipated?” Her gaze finally turns to Therion, and what he sees is completely different than what he expects: sorrow. Tears smear makeup down her cheeks, fingers bashfully flicking them aside. “I just...you’ve noticed how those bones should not be sticking out from the skin, right? How your hair shouldn’t be falling so quickly? Please tell me you’ve noticed…”  ****  
** **

“How would you know all this?” It was tucked away under… ****  
** **

“We h-had to remove your mantle and scarf to treat you.” Yet they were still nowhere in sight. “Therion, I know you hate it when we pry, but we really do care about you. We just...we want to understand why you’re doing this, so we can help you to get past it.”  ****  
** **

“There’s not a problem with what I’m doing.” A soft gasp escapes Primrose’s lips, and she cannot quite hide the sob following it. A sharp pain makes itself known in Therion’s heart as Primrose curls in on herself. H’aanit rushes to Primrose’s side, taking her in her arms and holding her close. Even she cannot hold back a tear. The urge falters further. “So why...why are you…?” ****  
** **

“It pains us to see you hurt yourself, Therion,” Alfyn finally answers, his own voice wavering. Yet his eyes still focus on his figure, hands reaching toward him yet not quite hitting the mark. “If I may...what do you believe you achieve from restrictin’ yourself like this? You say it’s beneficial on the battlefield…is it your way of tryin’ to better yourself?”  **_You know the consequences if you tell him._ ** _ He’ll support you.  _ **_He’ll ask more questions. Stop you._ ** ****  
** **

He cannot afford to be slowed. “I just need to be faster than I am now. And if something’s in the way of that, then it needs to be exterminated. That’s all.”  **_It’s all you are worth._ ** ****  
** **

“Why do you need to be faster?” Therion lowered his feet to the ground, ready to stand.  ****  
** **

“I just do.”  ****  
** **

“Does it have something to do with...Darius?” He stands abruptly, wavering in his footing as he adjusts the bedsheets, the urge so close to becoming reality. “Therion, don’t move so much.”  **_It’s all you are worth._ ** _ Stay. It will be okay.  _ **_You lose everything if you stay. Do you dare doubt those words?_ ** ****  
** **

“And if it did? What grouse do you hold with that?” Alfyn stands as well, stepping forward to meet Therion, who takes an equal step back in response. ****  
** **

“Therion...it pains me to hear you say this. Because it makes me fear this is what you’ve believed to be the normal all this time. That starvin’ yourself of energy and nutrients will get you the perfect speed you so desire, be it for Darius or no. I care for ya, Therion, and it’s because I do that...I need to ask one more question.” His eyes are pleading again, feeding the doubt now swelling in his heart. If Therion did not know better, he would say Alfyn was about to break. “If you say everything is perfectly fine...does this look perfect to you? Are you really content with the results?” ****  
** **

“Of course not,” he replies immediately. “We never got to Northreach. We never got to be faster…to…”  _ To nourish yourself. To live.  _ **_It’s worked before. You cannot--_ ** “I mean, we beat Gareth, but…”  _ He didn’t enjoy himself either.  _ **_He was too slow._ ** “But we’ve...come so far. We’ve almost…achieved…” _ What have you worked for? Is it really to rid yourself of the Fool’s Bangle? To prove yourself to Darius? To prove yourself to you?  _ **_You’ll find it once you rid yourself of the remaining waste._ ** “And yet...you’ve...always…”  **_They don’t understand. Never train yourself to expect the good life until the opportunity arises._ ** “You’re only worth as much as…all a thief needs is…”  ****  
** **

_ Is it perfect when they can enjoy their meals and accomplish their desires? Or has Darius always kept you from reaching that? Have you finally realized how far you’ve taken his words?  _ ****  
** **

**_Without his speed, a tea leaf is worth nothing._ ** ****  
** **

_ They believe in you to be worth everything. It’s because they do so that they’ve come together to help you. All they ask for is a sign.  _ ****  
** **

The urge shatters. ****  
** **

“...Alfyn? How...how do I...put it…?” Alfyn takes another step forward. This time, despite the tirades in his mind, his feet remain grounded.  ****  
** **

“Admitting it’s always the hardest part. But it’s the first step.” He holds his arms out, offering what his mind knows he’s likely not to take. “And we’re here for you.”  ****  
** **

For the first time in the last week, Therion releases his grip on the bed sheets. He’s aware of the unbearable chill that follows, but he does his best to ignore it. Time passes slower as he hears them fall in a soft grace, and he finds himself staring at different body parts; most notably, the wrist containing the bangle. Although he still sees parts to be exterminated, the idea slowly creeps on him how the bangle can be slipped off without the need for the key with ease.   _ It was not like that when I first received it.  _ And the shirt and pants he currently wears...did they always hang so low? And lest he forget the tiny hairs growing in patchy areas along his arms and neck, protecting him from Stillsnow’s chill... ****  
** **

“I...always thought...I was taught this as the answer. Everything would be better if I did this. But…”  _ Reach to them, for they are your beacon.  _ “Alfyn...I’m not sure where I strayed. And I...I don’t know what...how do I...Alfyn, I don’t know how to find that place. And I don’t know...if I can reverse this…” His gaze slowly lifts to meet Alfyn’s, seemingly closer than ever and all the more pleading. “I don’t know what’s right and wrong anymore. I’m not sure I ever will.”  ****  
** **

This time, Therion takes a step forward. The bed sheets sit behind him, long forgotten. He lets out long-held sigh, reaching his hand out and taking one of Alfyn’s, noting how different they are in size. Alfyn’s was built over years of dedication to his patients; his shrunk to swing keys and slim daggers; to be unable to carry loot or only hold one apple. Although he finds it the most arduous task in Orsterra, he forces himself to keep his gaze on Alfyn’s, squeezing his hand with the strength of a newborn babe.  ****  
** **

“I…” A shaky inhale. “I need someone to guide me in the right direction.”  ****  
** **

Silence reigns for a whole minute between them, the maelstrom in the air still swirling. His mind is abnormally quiet, processing what he just admitted. ****  
** **

Then its shatters into pieces by a relieved sigh. Alfyn’s eyes pool with relief and Therion hears a contended noise from H’aanit. The hand he holds squeezes his in return with restraint, another hand resting on his shoulder cautiously. Although he’s sure Alfyn so desperately wants to smile wide (after all, he did give them what they wanted to hear), he settles for a small one yet keeps those wide green eyes on his own. The voices in his head still debate; venom and antidote clashing to be victorious. But they aren’t pressuring him to be faster. To Therion, perhaps that is the most striking part of the confession. ****  
** **

“We’ll always be there for ya. We’ll help ya however we can,” Alfyn whispers in response.  ****  
** **

“Even if...I act refusant? Even if it takes cities of failures to get right? Even if...gods, even if we never figure it out?” ****  
** **

“No matter what. I wouldn’t expect anythin’ less than ups and downs. You don’t have to do this alone. We’re in this for the long haul.”  ****  
** **

**_You’re going to regret abandoning those words._ ** ****  
** **

_ You’ve taken the first step. It can only get better from here. _ ****  
** **

“...Thank you...for understanding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alaic was just doing his duty as bodyguard. Got wrecked by Linde again. Poor soul...
> 
> At least it led to a step in the right direction. :)


	3. Consequences (Short-Term)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i can totally get this part out on time  
> life: how about some illness and conflicts  
> me: yes life this is just what i wanted 
> 
> Sorry for the delay! Penultimate part; let's see where the PATH fun wagon ended up!

From the back of the pack mule, Orewell give a rustic first impression. ****  
** **

Red boulders give the town its signature Cliftlands glow, but its shack-like homes resemble Lower Bolderfall. Besides the gaping canyon requiring a bridge to connect the town, it did not have any feature to distinguish it from others. It was just another settlement in the red bluffs, hidden beneath the crags. At the very least, there is a tavern located at the far end of town. Perhaps there were rumors circulating regarding mysterious lore, or perhaps enough of a chance to steal certain treasures from people’s pockets. ****  
** **

Therion shakes his head. That was a faraway dream for now. ****  
** **

H’aanit assists him from the pack mule, taking in her arms the majority of their belongings while Primrose uses her charm and allure to haggle down the inn prices. Alfyn already began inquiring people regarding a mysterious illness passing through. Therion remains by his side, standing idly and twisting his fingers as he glances at potentially expensive items he could be stealing. But he knew there are watchful eyes on him constantly, much as it annoys him.  _ It’s for the best,  _ his more logical persona reminds him as a finger traces Alfyn’s hand for support. Alfyn squeezes it gently in return.  _ They just want what’s best. And until they can figure it out, just realize they have your best interest at heart.  _ ****  
** **

It was the same type of decision regarding their next destination. They all collectively decided -- until Therion was better both physically and emotionally -- that their trek to Northreach be delayed. Instead, they decided to reunite with their allies in Riverford -- Olberic had duties there, and took their remaining allies to suppress its tyranny. H’aanit used one of the birdians she captured to send a letter regarding their decision. It was only because of the illness that they diverged to Orewell. Susanna expressed extreme concern leaving Stillsnow hastily, citing a need for stability before rushing into the unknown. She pulled aside each traveler, informing them on what Therion could only believe as a recovery plan. He knew she gave Alfyn the formula for the supplement, for his satchel now carried many foreign ingredients that wound up in its horrible mixture. ****  
** **

“...Nice chattin’ with ya!” Alfyn concludes next to him, exposing a languid sigh before turning to the other companions, who each returned from their tasks. “The rumors were true: the entire town’s plagued. Some folks are willin’ to lead me over, so that’s my plan.”  ****  
** **

“The innkeep was nice enough to lower the price for two rooms,” Primrose informs them. “Of course, not as much as Tressa could do, but enough for a few days. Adrianna was ample in providing funds, despite my warnings.” She motioned to the belongings baking in the Cliftlands sun. “I can take these in while you assist the citizens. The innkeep also has a stable for Lil’ Therion, so we don’t need to worry about him.” Therion scowled briefly at the name. Stubborn as he was, Primrose explained upon announcing his chosen name to the group. ****  
** **

“Linde and I shall hunten for prey. Ingredients in these parts art plentiful,” H’aanit speaks, eyes focused on a distant birdian upon a boulder.  ****  
** **

“Who will you go with, Therion?” Primrose inquires. “Your choice.” Yet it did not seem like one. Out of the options, Alfyn’s required the least energy exerted, as his companions are wary over how much movement Therion makes. It was their reason for obtaining a pack mule in Victor’s Hollow after their initial trek witnessed a terrifying fight against two hoary bears. H’aanit’s always active, always ruling her out. Although Primrose’s is not so vigorous, her brooding is not stimulating. At least with Alfyn, there is something to gain. ****  
** **

“I can help with the illnesses,” he responds. “Better to have two sets of hands than one.” Alfyn gives him a bright smile, although he exchanges knowing glances with the remaining companions.  ****  
** **

“Glad to have ya on board. Reconvene at sundown, then?” With a few quick nods, they head in different directions. Alfyn leads Therion toward a run-down community center in the heart of town, with wood boarding numerous windows and citizens crowding around its entrance. Alfyn gently ushers them aside, immediately taking survey of the dozens of patients situated on bedrolls. To their left, an apothecary dressed head to toe in black works diligently at whipping up a tincture for a patient. Shattered glass litters his area, but he did not mind. Without paying more than a greeting to the other apothecary, Alfyn sets to work on the other side, ushering Therion to help him unpack. ****  
** **

He recognizes the other apothecary: the same one that first discouraged, then crushed his convictions after that damned thief was first healed, then killed by his hands. Although Alfyn recovered from his stint thanks to the good cheers of his friends, Therion still took to giving Ogen a moniker: oogie boogie Ogen. He could not help observing him as he works through his patients, meanwhile trading off ingredients with Alfyn at his discretion. For all the skill Alfyn claims he has, he certainly was clumsy. Different sized tools slip from his grasp more often than not, and with each he heaves a sigh while bending low to reach it. Under his fist, he was discreet about a persistent cough. Despite his overt ailments, he still pours his blood and sweat into his work to reach something. What it was is beyond Therion’s understanding. ****  
** **

**_You could be him. But you chose differently._ ** ****  
** **

Alfyn finishes first, wiping sweat from his brow and pulling up his satchel with a heavy arm. “Ready to head back? Gotta get to work on your supplement.” Therion rolls his eye and stands slowly, tucking his new scarf around him.  ****  
** **

“Please don’t remind me.” Alfyn releases a chuckle, although concern hid under it. They both know what their next conversation would consist of. Therion notes how oogie boogie Ogen eyes them warily as they exits. More specifically, he eyes him with a incredulous lens. No wonder “oogie boogie” fits him surprisingly well.  ****  
** **

In the inn’s kitchen, H’aanit has on display several different dishes using captured birdkings from her hunt. Linde tears at the remaining meat of one contentedly at her feet, scattering different chunks along the wooden floor. Alfyn sets his satchel on the countertop, bringing out vial after vial of ingredients as H’aanit brings over a borrowed jar. Primrose sits by a table, staring at her reflection in the plate set in front of her. ****  
** **

“Therion, last we spoketh of supper meals, thou requested I prepareth numerous options,” H’aanit approaches him, motioning to the different array. “I trieth my best to incorporeth ingredients thou wouldst enjoy with the birdkings. This includst apples as well.” He eyes the dishes warily, each displaying the bird in a different fashion. Vegetables line the sides of each, alongside a small loaf of bread. Therion could detect the hint of apple in each, which brought some calm over his wary form.  ****  
** **

_ None of these appear too challenging. Perhaps the grilled one in the broth would be suitable?  _ It certainly appears delicious, knowing the birdking marinated in an apple broth for hours.  **_What are you talking about? None of these are suitable. Each and every one of these will slow you down, just like the supplements. Do you think Ogen would consume any of these to reach his goal?_ ** His fingers trail under the bangle, slowly circling the skin there. Although bone still jutted out to meet metal, the skin had grown less inelastic, depicting signs of progress.  **_Yet it reverses everything you gained. You can get it back, you know._ ** He knows, and his fingers desperately wish to pinch the skin; to remind himself of this. ****  
** **

But a plate clattering against the table stops him. Primrose knocks it against the wooden surface with concerned eyes, although she does not speak. His fingers dart to his pocket, twitching slightly before he exhales. It was an unspoken way of preventing his urges, for Primrose had reasons to keep astray in words (her emotions ranged often enough for H’aanit to pull her away). He glances at the dishes again, sauntering over to them and picking up the grilled one with broth.  _ Well-handled. Good choice.  _ ****  
** **

Even if it did not always feel that way. ****  
** **

“This works. Thank you for the extra effort, H’aanit.” H’aanit gives an encouraging smile as she collects the remaining dishes, bringing one to Primrose and the other to Alfyn’s station. Vials are toppled over the other as he swirls the jar. Therion brings his dish over and sits across from Primrose. H’aanit joins soon after once Linde was satisfied with another birdking carcass, and Alfyn only joins once he sets the supplement to settle.  ****  
** **

Mealtimes are always a concerted effort to resemble normalcy. Alfyn often initiates the conversation with an event occurring during his day, conjuring a tangent regarding a specific patient or monster he saw. H’aanit inserts her opinion if it regarded a monster, and Primrose asks enough questions to keep the conversation focused on his stories. All the while, Alfyn inquires for Therion’s opinion to engage him, posture always leaning toward him as if he is the most interesting figure there. Yet Alfyn always manages to balance, ensuring it is not too pressuring to answer his questions. Every tiny hand squeeze under the table when Therion stares at his plate is encouragement in a much larger conflict he faces. ****  
** **

**_Are you really about to eat this? Gods, that broth has enough lard to slow you down instantly. And do not forget about the marinade - do you know what it’s made of? It’s as bad as the supplement. Give them what they want. Cut it to pieces to make it believable,_ ** the first voice jeers at him as he lifts his fork. It hovers just above the birdking, unsure if it should dive in.  _ By doing this, you are nourishing yourself. In that, you are regaining the speed you desire. And earning more than you think. Do not be afraid. It will not hurt you.  _ He sighs, cutting into the birdking and taking a small bite. The first voice only laughs in disbelief and fuels his regrets, while the second smiles on.  ****  
** **

It happens at every meal. But Therion forces himself through it, if only to dissuade the pitied looks his companions give him. ****  
** **

Most times, Therion cannot focus on the taste of the food he eats. He lets it become mush in his mouth before swallowing, knowing what he puts down is something he likely disapproves of. But Susanna had been very clear with H’aanit on what to feed him. The meals will not change anytime soon. This is where conversation is vital: it distracts from the adversity he faces in swallowing down his meal. At the end of every meal, Alfyn gives him a pat on the shoulder in encouragement. A silent sign he is on the right path.  ****  
** **

After supper is finished, H’aanit washes the dishes across the hall with Primrose. When the door shuts, a new battle engages as Alfyn brings over the supplement and places it in front of him. It stares at him with its particles floating, beckoning no one within its radius to consume it. He always has the urge to knock it away as he did in Stillsnow, but Alfyn always stops him. Someone always needs to be with him to ensure he drinks it all. Within the first day of their renewed travels, the group silently agreed Alfyn could best handle it. H’aanit was too forceful at times while Primrose’s emotions got the better of her.  ****  
** **

Alfyn readjusts himself next to Therion, encouraging smile plastered on his lips. “Here ya are. Made with an apothecary’s dedication.” It’s difficult to keep a scowl off his face as his trembling fingers trace the jar’s surface.  ****  
** **

“...Do I have to?” he always asks. Alfyn chuckles and settles more comfortably. ****  
** **

“The answer’s always the same, Therion.” He sighs, pulling the jar closer. He swears something moved in it as he did. “Feeling it will be more difficult than usual?”  ****  
** **

“A little.” He lifts the jar to his lips, taking in a small amount. To Alfyn’s credit, he’s tasted more repulsive things. The recipe calls for ingredients masking the horrors of the others, but it only eased Therion’s doubts slightly as he drops the jar to the table, forcibly swallowing the small amount and holding back a gagged reaction.  ****  
** **

“Want to walk through your thought process with me?”  **_He doesn’t understand what you need. Be faster._ ** He squeezes his eye shut, trying to block away the first voice while slowly nodding his head.  _ Good choice.  _ A hand reaches for his own under the table, which Therion takes up immediately. “Alright, guide me through your antecedents. What happened during your day?”  ****  
** **

“...Before this, we went to the old community center to treat citizens affected by the plague -- the Ardor Pestilence, you called it? Common to the Cliftlands and Riverlands, since they’re neighboring territories.” Alfyn nods. Therion traces the jar again, opening his eye slowly. “Ogen,” (he is tempted to use his nickname in spite), “was there too. Seemed off...then we came back and had supper before moving onto this.” In a quick movement, he brings the jar again to his lips and swallows down a slightly larger amount, placing it back on the table a moment later, eye squeezing shut again. ****  
** **

“What were your thoughts during the day? What are your thoughts now?”  ****  
** **

**_This slows you down. Do you know what’s in this gunk? It will ruin you forever. Why are you telling him these things? It’s better to sweep the supplement away and run. The farther you run, the faster you can make it to Northreach. What are you waiting for? You could be like Ogen! Do what you know is best for you!_ ** He lets out a shaky breath, bringing his knees to his chest and digging his chin between them.  ****  
** **

“I-I can’t do this, Alfyn. It’s going to hurt me...ruin me…just like the meal...” Alfyn squeezes his hand slowly, other hand cautiously trailing his knee and lowering it to the ground, warm eyes still trained on him.  ****  
** **

“Any physical responses?” He reaches his hand toward the supplement again, unable to face it head on. ****  
** **

“Trembling hands...heart rate increased...disgustingly full...sweat on the back of my neck...a deep chill through my body...light-headed...okay, now everything’s trembling…”  ****  
** **

“Any behaviors?” And in a quieter, more concerned voice: “Any urges?” His fingers grasp the jar again, bringing it closer. It was still over halfway from being empty. ****  
** **

“I...I ate the meal.” In another quick motion, he downs another slightly larger portion. It is unnaturally warm against the back of his throat, and he gags in response. Tears form at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill.  **_Threatening to show weakness. You could have avoided this._ ** Gods, how he hates this. Alfyn’s hand hesitates for a moment before reaching around his shoulders, rubbing gently although cautiously. “Drank...drinking...the supplement. But...I feel the urge to vomit. To knock the supplement away. To run away and never come back. To...restrict…at the next meal, or to not eat at all.”  ****  
** **

But he takes another portion in anyway. Now it’s half-empty, and Alfyn maintains his inflection and gestures as he inquires again. “What are the short-term consequences of your actions?” ****  
** **

_ You have been nourished by plenty of nutrients. You made it through another meal successfully, even if you believe otherwise. You have taken one step closer to recovery.  _ **_You’ve slowed yourself. You’ve trapped yourself in sentimentality you don’t need. You’ve made it worse._ ** He doesn’t know how to express these conflicting thoughts, so he pushes through another portion of the supplement. Give or take one more focused sip, and the battle is won. ****  
** **

“...I ate the meal. I drank most of the supplement...current plan is to finish it. I’ve given myself another step toward recovery...even though there is still debate in my head as to whether this is right or wrong.”  _ You know it is in your heart.  _ **_But it’s not what you need._ ** ****  
** **

“And the long-term consequences?” His grip on the supplement tightens.  **_You already know._ ** ****  
** **

“I...my regrets will come back to argue with me at the next meal. I have fed them. I...I will have to face another meal. But this has shown me that I can get through a meal again.”  **_Wrong/_ ** _ good answer. _  With one final motion, he completes the supplement, setting the jar down softly and letting his head drop on his knees. It’s only then he allows his tears to fall, staining the fabric with a wet splotch.  ****  
** **

“Ya did well, Therion,” Alfyn coos, varying the sizes of the circles he draws. “I’m proud of ya.” For a few moments silence reigns, save for dishes clattering across the hall. Therion knows Alfyn’s hesitancy grows with each passing moment, unsure of if what he is doing reaches him. He can almost hear with each labored breath the raging battle between pulling him close and respecting his boundaries. He turns his head so his puffy gaze meets Alfyn’s. ****  
** **

“...And we have to do this again tomorrow?”  ****  
** **

“The answer’s always the same,” came the response in his gentle voice, yet now carrying a string of exhaustion.  Therion narrows his gaze. Those dark circles from Stillsnow had not disappeared, and he could see where Alfyn crinkled his brow often in concern or worry. Maybe for the first time, he notices how his shoulders languidly slump. His circles still on his back. “I’ll still be here with ya, though. Unless, ya want someone else…” He shakes his head fervently, lifting it from his knees.  ****  
** **

“No, you’re doing fine. I’m just...you look exhausted, Alfyn. Almost as exhausted as you did in Saintsbridge.”  **_Even if you don’t believe me, you know the burden you placed on them. Something you never wanted to do._ ** It’s Alfyn’s turn to shake his head, smile growing wider as his circles resume. ****  
** **

“Don’t worry yourself ‘bout me. My main focus is you. And I’ll be here for as long as ya need me to be.” This is how it always concludes: Alfyn standing between different boundaries of Therion’s privacy yet renewing his promise all the same, and Therion standing between the voices yet unsure of whose hand to hold. Silence always overtakes them, but the comfort never stops beyond the little moments. Even if Therion cannot verbally appreciate all that is done, the part of his heart festering with doubt eases with each notion. Perhaps one day, he can express it with more than an incredulous stare and agreed grunt. ****  
** **

But for now, it would do. He is still learning. ****  
** **

* * *

Curiosity gets the better of him three days after. Despite Alfyn’s warnings (and the inkling he should not be left to his own devices), he still knocks thrice on the door to oogie boogie Ogen’s room.  ****  
** **

“...Enter.”  ****  
** **

The door creaks open and admits Therion into the miniscule room. Along a side table, numerous vials Therion recognizes from Alfyn’s satchel are in a disorganized stack. In the bed, the other apothecary lays bundled in as many blankets as the innkeeper can provide. A streak of blood stains his pale chin, his entire form trembling. Of course, this does not stop the apothecary from granting him the same gaze of disbelief from yesterday before turning his head to stare idly at the wall.  ****  
** **

“...What do you want?” he asks in a caustic tone. Therion lingers by the doorway, crossing his thin arms. It will not do him good to catch illness with the state he is in. “Alfyn send you?”  ****  
** **

“Not necessarily. But he is looking for a specific herb I believe he left in here.” It was of cornsweed -- a nutrient-loaded herb with bone-building properties -- used as one of numerous ingredients in Therion’s supplements. It was contained in a small jar rather than a vial due to the sheer amount used. Sure enough, it is situated on the far corner of the table. Therion slowly wanders to it, not taking his eyes off the other apothecary. “And perhaps curiosity got the better of me after your little outbreak earlier.”  ****  
** **

“I thought I recognized you. You were in the center yesterday.” On their early rounds, Alfyn was informed that Ogen disappeared from his duties suddenly sometime last evening, suppressing a deep cough. They found him across town, to which Ogen shirked away from as many of Alfyn’s inquiries until he harked up a pint of blood. It was only then Alfyn discovered the purple rash and alarming fever… ****  
** **

For just a moment, they were one and the same. ****  
** **

“And you kept dropping things. Alfyn’s always lauding your skill, but yesterday just didn’t cut it.” He carefully gathers the jar in his hands, inspecting the cornsweed. How can such an innocent herb be used for such a dastardly beverage? He will have to inquire Alfyn on that. “He’s been inquiring some townsfolk regarding your current state. Something about a Melyssa…hacking all over the patients…” ****  
** **

“You know about that name?!” Therion shrugs. ****  
** **

“I was with him. Townsfolk are willing to share so much when a friendly apothecary approaches them.” He waltzes to the door, feeling somewhat smug for irritating the other apothecary. “Well, I ought to get this back to Alfyn. He needs it to concoct something pretty...potent, you could say.” With a small wave, Therion prepares to exit the inn room. As Therion chose to remain with H’aanit for the remainder of the day (Linde was ill from consuming too many birdking carcasses, leaving her feckless in hunting), she was expecting him for their supper planning period.  ****  
** **

“...Why did he save you?” He pauses in the doorway, feet scraping to a halt. ****  
** **

“Pardon?”  ****  
** **

“You heard me, thief.” Silence.  ****  
** **

**_Good question. You wouldn’t have to think about that if you chose differently._ ** ****  
** **

“...I could ask you the same.” A breathless laugh. There was a hollowness to his eyes. “I’m sure you already have your answer, huh? Something regarding your dead wife?” He turns to face the other apothecary, who now plasters a soulless smile on his lips.  _ You should not have done that. Best you leave. H’aanit will be looking for you.  _ “Guess I hit that mark. Ooh, now if I guessed again,  she influenced you to do something so horrendous that you regret it now, eh?”  ****  
** **

“...I killed her murderer, yes.” Something in his heart picks up immediately. ****  
** **

“Wait, really?” Another breathless laugh. ****  
** **

“After her death...I set off on a journey. I had no hopes, no aspirations. I just wanted to help someone, anyone...in any way I could. Anything to do Melyssa proud.”  **_Sounds familiar._ ** “But it wasn’t to be. One day, in a far-flung village...I found him. The man who murdered my beloved.”  _ You don’t need to remind yourself.  _ **_But it proved something, huh?_ ** “He had a family of his own. A wife, a boy of some five summers. When I saw them together, smiling and laughing...something broke inside of me.”  **_You could have been much, much faster._ ** “And so I waited until nightfall, then snuck up on the man when he was alone...and left him in the same shape he left my dear Melyssa.”  ****  
** **

“...Gods…” It is only then that the other apothecary’s eyes flicker toward his, narrowed and  **_knowing like that damn farce seer._ ** ****  
** **

“It was a strange feeling. Though saving his life took days...ending it took but an instant.” A laugh that morphs quickly into a sigh. “Human life’s a fleeting and fragile thing, eh? I fled from the village, as fast and far as I could. From there, I continued my journey as if nothing had happened. Funny, isn’t it? None of those people know the man who saved their lives stole another. I can’t bear to think of the pain and suffering I inflicted on the man’s family...so I don’t. But every day I ask myself: what right do I have to play god with these bloodstained hands?”  **_If he were faster, he could have achieved something great._ ** “Time and again I thought of ending my own life...but I’m too much a coward to do the deed.”  ****  
** **

The first voice only gives an echoing laugh to that.  ****  
** **

“How many years has it been now?” the other apothecary continues, leaning back against the pillows. “In my travels, my body has come to be ravaged by every plague and pestilence our realm has known. But never once have I thought of treating myself.”  _ Just as Primrose said in Stillsnow.  _ “I am a murderer. A sinner.” A deep, trembling breath. “And mine is not a life worth saving.”  **_You know his next question, don’t you?_ ** “I ask again. Why did he save you? We are the same: thieves who steal from others.” ****  
** **

**_I say again: good question. Despite being insistent on bringing them into your little world, believing they could somehow understand, what makes you think you deserved that?_ ** _ It was not your fault. You could not have known how it would end. You did not know better; did not know right from wrong.  _ **_And yet you let it happen. Part of you still wants it to happen. Why wallow on how they could possibly help you, when you do not deserve it? All a tea leaf needs is his speed. If he loses that, he is nothing._ ** ****  
** **

The other apothecary exhales, body sinking completely into the bed and eyes fluttering shut. “This is the answer I’ve found. And...I see you found yours.” He grunts. “Now, I’m feeling a bit tired...pray, leave me to rest until Alfyn arrives again.”  ****  
** **

Therion abides, only nodding before exiting the inn room. With heavy footsteps, he trudges to the inn’s kitchen, faintly hearing something sizzling against heated metal. The scent of woolly spiders and apples meet his nose as he enters, where H’aanit stirs a pot filled with different vegetables and broths harnessed from the birdkings. He slinks into a chair by the table undetected by the huntress before letting his head fall into his hands. The jar of cornsweed clinks on the wooden surface, rolling slowly until it stops before different vials of spices.  ****  
** **

“Therion, art thou alright?” he hears H’aanit wonder over her preparations. He nods his head slowly, but immediately hears H’aanit clicking her tongue in dissent as she strides across the room. “Dost thou wish to talketh about thine concerns?” ****  
** **

“...What would you consider a life worth saving?” he asks through muffled hands. He hears a spoon clink against a plate and a chair scrape the floor next to him. Something soft nudges his foot under the table, purring against it. The smell of woolly spider overwhelms him. ****  
** **

“Ah, thou hast visited our newest patient,” she deduces, clasping her hands firmly. Therion lifts his head from his hands to face the huntress. Although she often kept a neutral expression, her eyes appear as gates to her hidden emotions. As of now, they depict concern and curiosity. “Hast a way with words, that one.”  ****  
** **

“How did you…?” ****  
** **

“In delivereth his lunch earlier, he wast asleepeth in a terrible nightmare. I coulde not helpen but heareth thy same.” She hums in thought for a moment, eyes flickering toward the window viewing the splitting canyon. Primrose took after Alfyn to assist with Ogen’s patients. “They haunteth the soul, in thy least. Did he addressen you with them?”  ****  
** **

“He...he asked me if I was a life worth saving.” He runs a hand through his hair, frowning at how the strands stray so easily from his roots and onto the floor. “I’d like to think I’m not in as dark of a place as he. Deep in my heart, I know I would not be able to convince you all otherwise, but…” He sighs, letting his head thump in the crook of his elbow. “I don’t know. I can’t help but think we are the same.” ****  
** **

H’aanit is speechless for a few moments, unmoving in her stance yet eyes flickering between different thoughts and words. Therion closes his eye, knowing it would be a while yet before H’aanit addresses him again. His brief meditation leads him to wonder about his next meal. What could she do to make something satisfactory out of woolly spiders and apples?  **_How can we avoid it? If Ogen can avoid treatment for as long as he did, you can do the same. You are the same, after all._ ** ****  
** **

“Perhaps thou hast a point.” Therion’s eye shoots open at H’aanit, whose gaze remains focused on the window, expression still neutral. Shadows from the setting sun paint her face in an array of patterns.  ****  
** **

“You think I’m right?” It comes out drenched in disbelief, and that’s when a corner of H’aanit’s lips quirks upward.  ****  
** **

“Holden thy tongue. T’was not finished.” Her gaze finally lands on his, and at once a spectacular confidence bursts within them. “Perhaps thou hast a point. However, there lieth a difference in thy strength. Thy willpower, if thou wille. It hath demonstrated itself presently in thine inflection at my words.” He lifts his head from his elbow, faintly aware of a door opening and closing in the background.  ****  
** **

“And yet...all the times I...H’aanit, you don’t understand. We’ve both searched for a long time. We’ve both gotten…”  **_Are you denying your results?_ ** The second voice nods in approval. “...nothing from our efforts. And we’ve both fallen to rock bottom as a result. Where does willpower play into this?” H’aanit stands, identifying two familiar voices in languid banter beyond the kitchen. ****  
** **

“Thou art accepting guidance for thy issues, no? Thou continues to appeareth at mealtimes daily, albeit many suns and moons pass with difficulties. Thou hast some idea as to what thou wants, whether thou knowest it or not.” She circles around to greet Primrose and Alfyn, who fall into silence upon entering the kitchen. Linde remains under the table by his foot, still nudging it with support. Therion reaches below the table and rewards the snow leopard with a gentle petting. “How were thy patients?”  ****  
** **

“Getting better. You ought to try being this man for one day,” Primrose responds, sliding onto the countertop and crossing her legs, all the while motioning to her partner. Alfyn sets his satchel on the surface with a heavy thud, different vials clinking together. “The sheer amount of them with the same issue is beyond my patience and grace.” She glances at the boiling pot, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “Is that...supper? What is it supposed to be?” ****  
** **

“Woolly spider stew,” H’aanit remarks, seemingly proud of her invention. Primrose gifts her an inquisitive stare before the huntresses delves into the specifics. As she lists out the ingredients she collected from yesterday’s hunt and their roles in the simmering pot, Alfyn brushes past them and kneels before Therion, a half-warm smile etched on his lips but masked in overwhelming exhaustion. There are bloodstains scattered in an abstract pattern over his vest. His fingers seem coated with different substances. The shadows under his eyes remain. ****  
** **

“How are ya feelin’?” Alfyn inquires. “Ya look a lil’ confused.” He shakes his head softly, noting how his eyelids drop in a sluggish manner every so often.  ****  
** **

“I’m fine. You, on the other hand, look like shit.” It garners him a low chuckle. “I guess you’re going to see…” (really, from the conversation earlier, he desperately wants to use his nickname) “...Ogen now, huh?” He exhales with dread. Therion empathizes with it.   ****  
** **

“Not ‘til I’m convinced you’re really alright, Therion. As a warnin’, I’ll be late to supper tonight. I know H’an and Prim will take good care of ya -- I know you trust them too -- but I wanna make sure. I’ll still be back for your supplement, once I find my cornsweed and settle things with Ogen.” Unconsciously, Therion leans his head toward where it rolled away. ****  
** **

“I’ll save you the trouble. It’s right there.” His eyes lit up with surprise and relief.  **_Too slow_ ** **,** he realizes too late. Yet it does not bother him as much as it should; as it had back in Stillsnow. ****  
** **

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He takes it, adjusting it on his satchel strap. “So, are ya sure? If ya need me here, I’ll be here.”  **_Now’s your chance._ ** _ There’s no need to be faster. They believe in you. _ Therion nods with a sense of confidence, a small smirk overtaking his consistent frown. ****  
** **

“Go worry about Ogen. From how H’aanit described him at lunch, he could use a lot more encouragement than I do right now.” This catches Alfyn off guard, for his form jerks slightly back in surprise. But his half-warm smile becomes smothered in the sentiment as he stands, patting him on the shoulder in encouragement.  ****  
** **

“Then I’ll do just that. But if ya need me, only holler. Remember that, Therion. I’m always here for ya.” He turns to go, but not before giving Therion one last smile of encouragement. As if he knows Therion would be wracked in thoughts during this meal, and wants to inform him of his spiritual presence. As if he’s able to see something Therion is not; the same sentiments H’aanit and Primrose can.  ****  
** **

If only he can figure out the answer, the way Ogen had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself with oogie boogie Ogen. It just works. Same with Lil' Therion the pack mule.


	4. Consequences (Long-Term)

H’aanit’s words stick with him throughout their meal in tangent with Ogen’s, a new point made with each bite. The girls carefully spoon through their woolly spider stew -- Primrose no longer skeptical about its contents with H’aanit’s remarkable ability to mask its flavor -- as Therion opts for the leftover marinated birdking. Perhaps it’s the leftovers easing him during this meal, enabling him to take a bite without the two voices blasting him for the positives and negatives of his actions. And yet he still cannot bring himself to taste it, chewing continuously until the flavors are indistinguishable. He tries to listen mindfully to Primrose and H’aanit’s conversation regarding different patients in town.  ****  
** **

“Ist the plague as severe as Ogen’s ailments?” Primrose shakes her head, hair dangling off her shoulders. ****  
** **

“Alfyn said Ogen’s is a mix of numerous illnesses. Curing him will be the most arduous task to conquer. Everyone else has displayed symptoms of something known as the Ardor Pestilence. Ravaging fevers, hoarse coughs, and a dreadful chill. Thankfully it’s been around long enough that a form of a cure has been concocted, but it takes more preparation than you think.”  ****  
** **

“Are thine ingredients thy issue?” ****  
** **

“Not quite. They’re all simple ingredients. Alfyn says it’s the patience required to carefully measure each one that takes so much time.”  ****  
** **

“I see. I didst not realize the complexities of thy pestilence.”  _ What purpose did you go through this? For Darius?  _ **_Most definitely._ ** _ For someone else?  _ **_Who? Like the damn apothecary? Please._ ** _ For yourself?  _ That they can agree on, but to what extent?  ****  
** **

“It’s a brutal one indeed. Sometimes Alfyn’s concoctions came through. Sometimes all we could do was hold their hands and wait out nature’s course…” ****  
** **

“Art thou feeling down for that reason?” ****  
** **

“...Perhaps. I’ve never felt more exhausted from running around with him.”  _ To rid yourself of Darius?  _ **_To be faster._ ** _ To rid yourself of the bangle?  _ **_A reminder of your current speed._ ** _ For gaining back what you lost at the cliffs?  _ **_We gained what was necessary to survive._ ** _. _ ****  
** **

“Then I shalle attendeth with him some time to understandeth thou pains.”  _ Speed is a primary reaction. What is the secondary? Companionship?  _ **_You’ve lived through it before._ ** ****  
** **

“...You do have more patience than I, however, it is quite strenuous. There is not much activity as with hunting. Perhaps it would wear thin from watching patients moan and groan.”  _ What did you lose before meeting Darius?  _ **_You gained everything when meeting him. A trusting partner. Advice to follow._ ** ****  
** **

“I like to thinken I woulde have patience to sparen.”  _ And you did not have that before?  _ **_He was your guide to the world. He still is._ ** ****  
** **

“You better than Tressa or Cyrus. Just imagine the professor around that many patients. Alfyn would be distracted in restraining him from his scrutinizing habits.” They exchange a soft laughter. ****  
** **

_..That’s it.  _ ****  
** **

“Therion?”  ****  
** **

He did not realize he had stood from his chair. H’aanit and Primrose exchange questioning glances with him; Primrose’s finger trails around his plate, where only scraps remain. “Do you need Alfyn?” Primrose questions, worry laced in every word. He holds his breath for a moment before nodding. ****  
** **

“I just realized something I forgot to tell him. It’s urgent.” H’aanit nods with a knowing smile. ****  
** **

“Go. Prim and I shall taken care of the dishes.” He signals his gratitude before racing out of the kitchen, heart beating erratically with each step toward oogie boogie Ogen’s residence.  **_Why? What will you gain from doing this?_ ** The door is opened at an angle, easily allowing him to admit himself with fleeting footsteps. The other apothecary’s eyes widen initially, but quickly settle into their familiar disapproving gaze, arms lifting slightly at his arrival.  ****  
** **

“What now?” he demands, voice weaker from before. A quick surveillance informs Therion he is mistaken of Alfyn’s whereabouts. ****  
** **

“Alfyn was supposed to be here, right?” he inquires in turn. The other apothecary nods, motioning to the door.  ****  
** **

“He was. Had a nice conversation with him as he claimed he could save me. Had almost the same reactions. Left mumbling how he needed to prepare something for another patient.”  **_The damned supplement, in all likelihood._ ** Although he should bow out and continue his search, something about his inflection keeps Therion’s feet grounded.  ****  
** **

“...You told him the story?” ****  
** **

“In the same exact words. It never changes.” He leans back in his pillows, eyes flickering constantly between open and closed. “Put briefly, I don’t know where Alfyn is. With the way he phrased his preparations, I can only assume it’s for someone important to him.” His last few words drip with venom, eyes now remaining open and completely focused on him. Therion takes a breath, hating how he glares with vicious eyes.  ****  
** **

“About our chat earlier...I think I have an actual answer. And one for the same question you ask yourself.” He raises his brow with feigned intrigue. ****  
** **

“Oh? And what’s that?” He shuffles his hands behind him, unable to place them in a side pocket or under his mantle any longer.  ****  
** **

“I don’t know why, but they’ve chosen to believe in me. They see something inside of me I can’t identify. And it’s because they see something so grand that they do everything they can to help.” One of his hands instinctively clutches at his heart. “They tell me I continue to make progress with my condition. They tell me I have some idea as to what I want from all of this, even if I do not know what. They believe I have determination to overcome my obstacles, and so they -- Alfyn, he -- he saves me. Saves me like he would save a dying patient, because maybe that’s what I am: someone needing guidance to see the world as they do. Although I cannot completely understand this yet...I see it in their efforts. In their eyes.” ****  
** **

Ogen’s eyes are now closed, as if blocking out Therion’s words. There’s a pained sentiment on his lips, tempting Therion to reach for him. But he opens his eyes before he can. “Do you deserve it?” It’s Therion’s turn to release a breathless laugh. The first voice is laughing, trembling him to the core. ****  
** **

“Likely not. But I’ll be damned if they find a reason to stop now.” He lifts his arms, surveying the battlefield he calls his body. The shirt he wears still sags over his belt, three sizes too big. His wrist and collar bones jut out unnaturally, displaying years of concerted effort. Parts of him are still sunken and hollow, his tolerance to cold minimal at best. “You are right, to an extent. We’ve both let ourselves ravage our bodies until the damage is irreparable. We’ve both searched for something we have not achieved. And we’ve both made mistakes we want to forget. But Ogen, we also both have someone believing in us. Pushing us to find what we search for, even if we have no right to their guidance.”  ****  
** **

Ogen’s gaze is incredulous. “You forget we are both criminals? Both people that go against everything your friends stand for. They are noble in their causes, and we selfish.”  ****  
** **

“As I said, we may not be worthy. But we take it anyway. We take it so that one day -- when all of our obstacles are overcome -- we can return the favor. We can find the closure we need, and perhaps deserve.” His feet are finally ungrounded, in which he turns to leave. “You and I, we are the same. But we differ in one regard: our acceptance of this saving grace differs our paths.” One hand returns to his side while another instinctually runs through his hair. Strands fall from their usual position, although in a smaller clump. “I’ve said too much, haven’t I? You’re probably worn from my lecture, so I’ll leave you to rest.” He takes his first few steps, already knowing where Alfyn is, if the shadows under his eyes indicate anything.  **_What were you thinking? Are you abandoning everything that makes you content?_ ** _ It needed to be admitted. To be understood and accepted.  _ **_Fool. You weak, sentimental fool._ ** ****  
** **

“...One last question, thief.” He stops in his tracks, head whipping to observe oogie boogie Ogen raising his back from the pillows. It’s only then Therion observes the bold purple rash creeping down his neck.  ****  
** **

“Fire away.”  ****  
** **

“...Do you think even a man like me is a life worth saving?”  ****  
** **

“Everyone’s life is worth at least a chance.” ****  
** **

“Even the man from Saintsbridge?” He nods. ****  
** **

“It’s how we choose to accept it that makes it all worthwhile. Whose doors we open ourselves to and what assistance we take make the difference in shaping our lives for the better. Saving them from the despair of repeating our mistakes. Some choose not to accept this--” (his mind flashes to Saintsbridge; the blood, the screams, the despair in  _ his  _ eyes) “--and some do. They only do their best. It’s up to us to recognize that placed worth, and reciprocate these sentiments. Does that answer your question?” The other apothecary blinks at him for a few moments, eyes flickering similar to H’aanit’s in thought. His eyes close and his form relaxes against the pillows. ****  
** **

“...Somewhat,” he mutters before Therion observes his figure goes limp, breathing becoming even. 

With no need to linger, Therion trails out and starts down the narrow chamber hall leading to their inn rooms. Orewell’s inn is the smallest of the ones they visited, housing only ten residents at any given time. At the end of the hall, two rooms stand adjacent to each other -- one for the women and men respectively. While the women’s room is closed tight, the men’s is opened halfway. Therion peers into it silently before taking a few steps forward. He immediately notes the apothecary’s vest discarded on a hook in the corner, and the numerous vials scattered between their two beds. A potent aroma of cornsweed and grape greet him, in which he digs his nose deep into his scarf.  ****  
** **

“Alfyn…?” he calls out, not desiring to be near the progressing supplement. A chair topples to the floor beyond the door. Hurried footsteps accompany the clatter, with Alfyn appearing in front of him in moments. If he appeared unwell before, he most certainly displays it worse now. ****  
** **

“Therion! Everythin’ okay? Somethin’ happen?” he rushes out, eyes scanning him wildly for signs of displeasure or foreshadowing something far deeper. He shakes his head, hands fumbling behind his back. ****  
** **

“No...I’m alright. I just...if you’re busy, I can come back.” Alfyn places a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head and encouraging him to enter. ****  
** **

“If ya need to talk or let some emotions out, I promised ya my ear, Therion. ‘Sides, your supplement’s almost set. I was gonna need to see ya real soon anyhow, so this saves us some trouble.” Although the first voice chides him, Therion steps inside. Orewell’s sunset pours through the side window, illuminating the room in a brazen red hue as he takes to his bed. Alfyn joins him promptly, the mattress bending with his added weight. “What did ya need to talk about?” ****  
** **

**_This is your final warning. You do this, and you will never back your speed. You will have failed._ ** ****  
** **

It’s a harsh realization Therion comes to, words fumbling on the tip of his tongue. Until now, Therion never dared to release information pertaining his personal life. What point would it serve when he was likely never to communicate with these travelers again after his quest concluded? What would they do once the information was spilled?  **_That’s why you need to be faster. You know this, yet you still…_ ** He hugs himself, bringing his knees to rest against his chest and uttering a sigh.  ****  
** **

“Rumor has it...oogie boogie Ogen told you quite a story.”  ****  
** **

“You saw ‘im?” Alfyn leans back, eyes frowning over his form with a hint of confusion. “Might have to inspect ya for illness. I’d hate for ya to catch what he’s gettin’ along with. And, uh...oogie boogie?” Therion shakes his head. ****  
** **

“Kept my distance. Only went searching for you. And don’t worry about the ‘oogie boogie’ part. That’s just a...nickname I heard from one of the local children he treated.” He sighs softly. “But...I also went to see him earlier. When you and Primrose were diagnosing and treating his other patients.”  ****  
** **

“Did H’aanit know?” He knows why he inquires it.  ****  
** **

“She figured it out on her own when I returned. I only went in to find your cornsweed. That’s where it was.” He keeps his gaze to the floor, observing how the shadows reflected on the wall morph with a fierce Cliftlands breeze outside the window. “Heard the same story. He asked a strange question as I tried to leave, you know. Asked why you decided to save me. I think it was in consideration to my profession.” Alfyn is quiet for a moment, breath barely audible, before he exhales somberly. ****  
** **

“I see. I’ll make sure to chat with him then regardin’--” ****  
** **

“You don’t need to tell him off. I...I gave it thought, finding an answer to it, and questions I’ve asked myself for a long time.” He brings the bangled hand to the fading light, inspecting it as he would an apple. “I know I’ve been uptight about these kinds of things, but...I need to say something about it. I was hoping, since you’re the closest...traveling companion I have, I…” He ducks his head between his knees, bringing his gaze slowly to meet Alfyn’s. “But I understand if you cannot handle more dreary subjects. It’s been a long day; Primrose mentioned the patience needed for your concoctions. And you’re likely to deal with my resistance with the supplement.”  ****  
** **

“That’s avoidance, Therion.” It’s sharp yet with no venom. The grip on his shoulder becomes firmer; more encouraging. “You know that.” ****  
** **

“...I know. Bad habit. Still working on it.” ****  
** **

“Just take a deep breath. And when you’re ready, then let it out.”  ****  
** **

Breath in.  _ He believes in you. And you do too.  _ The first voice is silent. Exhale. His gaze locks on Alfyn’s.  ****  
** **

“Freedom.” He takes another breath before continuing. “I’ve never had it, Alfyn. Our profession binds us through our next heist, always seeking success. Darius, he...he understood this better than I. He relied on heists until the opportunity arose, doing no matter what to reach it. Even if it meant...weakening others deliberately; starving them of similar opportunities. He did it to me, and he planned the same for Gareth. I know you would have spared him. But he would have had no life under Darius. I...I wouldn’t wish my conditions on anyone, even if they attacked us.” Alfyn’s grip tightens, creeping further toward his neck, but Therion does not notice. ****  
** **

“Beyond Darius...I was bound to him through thought. I had need to prove I could get by without him. To do that, I honed the only asset I needed.” A pause. “ _ All a tea leaf needs is his speed. And without it, he is nothing.  _ I abided that for years, only rationing myself the bare minimum to get by. Working more intense heists to where I was exhausted after. I believed if I could just outdo Darius...I could find what he found, you know? Maybe not complete freedom, but better than nothing. But the search proved fruitless.”  ****  
** **

Alfyn’s abnormally silent as he speaks, still slowly moving his arm closer to the other shoulder. He can see the anger in his eyes for numerous reasons and his jaw clenched behind a untamed stubble. Removing a hand from his knees, he tugs at the hand now clutching his other shoulder, grasping it hesitantly. Alfyn smothers it in turn, squeezing tight.  ****  
** **

“For so long, I didn’t know what I sought. What would change if I outdid him? I think...I always desired a sense of peace -- freedom I could never have. Not only from Darius, but...being able to put faith in others. To rid myself of this loneliness I’ve always had. I could not possibly realize it then, for I narrowed my vision so much around what I believed would lead to success. I was disgusted for each failure I had. Days I went without food; years of constantly running and agreeing with  _ his  _ voice in my head, and always pointing out hindrances. I could never see what I saw in Darius: strength, agility. I only saw weakness, clumsiness...I hated every aspect of myself. Knew deep in my heart it exacerbated the loneliness.”  ****  
** **

“Therion…” is all Alfyn can muster. And then: “I know ya hate it when someone breaks your boundaries, but…gods, Therion...” He takes another deep breath before nodding. ****  
** **

“...Please.” And at once strong arms encircle him, shattering the barrier. If there was a chill, it dissipates immediately -- gods, was he always this warm? Therion knows Alfyn’s crying above him, creating droplets on strands of hair. Somewhere along this sweeping gesture, Therion’s head lands upon his shoulder, figure leaning in his direction and hands holding onto his to maintain their new position. His eyes now fall toward his stained vest, seeking the bright green patches between the bloodied stains. “You wanna know something good about finding those answers, though?”  ****  
** **

“...What’s that?” ****  
** **

“Even if I cannot understand it completely, I have some notion as to why you continue to help me.” A sniffle from above. “Maybe one day I can show more appreciation than just adding to your problems, but...the idea of you believing in me, and the progress I can make...it’s helped more than you know. So…” He can’t quite deliver a semblance of gratitude, but he doesn’t need to. Alfyn retreats one arm to furiously wipe at his eyes.  ****  
** **

“I always will, Therion. Ya don’t need to do nothin’ in turn. You bein’ here’s enough for me.” His arm returns to his original position. “There’s a lot of good in ya. One day, I hope I can show ya all of it.” ****  
** **

“I know.”  _ One day.  _ ****  
** **

For eternity, they maintain this embrace in complete silence, save for Alfyn’s occasional sniffle. The shadows painted on the floors and walls morph and begin to disappear altogether, colors fading from the room. Even as the light fades, the warmth between them is enough to satisfy. If Therion listens closely, he can still make out Ogen’s soft snores a few doors down, accompanying the occasional screech from a wild birdian outside. Therion doesn’t realize his eyes have closed and his form relaxes until Alfyn pulls back slightly, stomach gurgling between them.  ****  
** **

“Probably oughta eat somethin’ before I get back to work.” ****  
** **

“There’s more to do?” It sounds more disappointed than he intends.  ****  
** **

“At the very least, gotta get through your supplement. And I’ve a concoction to brainstorm for Ogen.” An idea forms suddenly in his mind, prompting him to free himself from Alfyn’s embrace, much to both of their dismay. The newfound chill is distasteful, but Therion stretches in it nonetheless. ****  
** **

“Hold on one moment. I want to get something first.” Before Alfyn can grasp his wrist, Therion darts from the room toward the kitchen again with the same urgency as before. H’aanit and Primrose are still seated at the table holding conversation over trivial points. Linde’s head rises first at his arrival, arm draped in the doorway. Then H’aanit notices, brow furrowed in concern over his form. Primrose rises from her chair, hand and figure outstretched toward him.  ****  
** **

“Ist everything alright?” the huntress inquires. ****  
** **

“Did something happen to you or Alfyn?” Primrose adds. “Or Ogen?” He shakes his head, eyes searching for something particular.  ****  
** **

“No, everything’s fine. I need to bring something to Alfyn. Do you know where the fruit bowl is?” Primrose’s expression drops as she sighs, shaking her head and retreating to her chair.  ****  
** **

“Don’t come charging in that like that next time. You had me thinking Alfyn collapsed of exhaustion, or Ogen was on the verge of death.” H’aanit motions to the corner of the countertop, toward a wooden bowl half-filled with assorted fruits.  ****  
** **

“It hast been there for all thy time.” Therion approaches it, eyes glossing over locally-grown pomegranates and apricots before settling on two apples toward the bottom. He snatches both, slipping one into his pocket before turning back toward the door. “Dost thou have a purpose with thine fruits?”  ****  
** **

“Alfyn has yet to eat, no? He still has work to do; thought I’d bring him something to snack on.” He’s about to rush out with the same urgency when Primrose calls to him.  ****  
** **

“Therion?” ****  
** **

“Hm?” A gentle smile; one she only wore in times of serenity. ****  
** **

“I’m proud of you.” If he was not confused before, he is now. ****  
** **

“Uh...thanks?” A soft chuckle as she leans against her chair. ****  
** **

“I just thought you should know. That’s all.” He turns back to leave. ****  
** **

“Okay, I guess…?” He scurries from the room back to Alfyn, balancing the apple in one hand while tucking his scarf over his cheeks with the other. Flattering as Primrose’s words were, the reason they were spoken in that moment is lost on him.  ****  
** **

Alfyn’s still situated on his bed when he re-enters, now tossing the apple lightly. He glances in his direction, brow furrowing at the apple in his hand. Therion’s tempted to toss it in his direction, but settles for holding it out to him with expecting eyes. “An apple?” Alfyn questions, taking it carefully. Therion nods, reclaiming his position on the bed.  ****  
** **

“We’re going to be here for a while longer. Thought you might want something to hold you over until H’aanit’s woolly spider stew.” As Alfyn bites into it, making contented noises as he takes in its flavors, Therion finds himself pulling out the second apple weighing down his pocket. “And...I wanted to suggest something.”  ****  
** **

“Oh?” His fingers brush over the apple’s surface, noting a blemish on its bottom.  ****  
** **

“...Half the supplement if I eat this.” Therion watches Alfyn’s reaction through how his brow furrows at first in confusion, then raises in realization and surprise, and finally settles with an answer. A smile graces his lips as he returns a hand to his shoulder. ****  
** **

“I’d say ya need more of the supplement than that. It’s got nutrients to improve your overall health, but I appreciate your initiative. How about...three-quarters of the supplement alongside the apple?” It’s the best he’s likely to get. He nods in appreciation. ****  
** **

“Sure. Better than a flat-out rejection.” Alfyn pats his shoulder one last time before finally standing. The apple is half-eaten, core glimmering in the windowlight.  ****  
** **

“I wasn’t gonna reject it, Therion. It’s a fantastic step forward for ya. I’m gonna grab your supplement. It’s likely done settlin’, and we best hope the sunset didn’t make it too warm!”  ****  
** **

“That’s even worse than its actual taste.” Alfyn chuckles as his footsteps trail behind him, grunts evident in lifting the jar. Therion lifts the apple to view it more clearly, noting now how it was green rather than red. Had he ever had an apple of a different color before? Alfyn returns moments later to the bedside, carefully seating himself with the jar in his hands. ****  
** **

“We’re pretty lucky. Still got some cool left in’t. Best drink it now ‘fore it really gets tepid.” Therion slips the apple into his pocket again, taking up the jar and drawing in a deep breath. Alfyn’s hand never leaves his shoulder as he downs his allotted amount in one fell swoop, panting slightly as he sets the jar near his feet. “I’ll be damned, Therion. Take it easy for a second, huh? That’s the fastest I’ve seen ya take on that supplement, and the most determined.” ****  
** **

“...Maybe I was really looking forward to the apple, and I just wanted to get the worst over with.” He retrieves the apple again, bringing it directly to his lips.  ****  
** **

“Either way, that was damn good of ya.” Alfyn takes up his apple again, taking a bite with a satisfied smile. “And the apples ya picked, Therion? Mighty refreshin’. We oughta check out the apple orchards they got around here, see if we can take some for the road, eh?” ****  
** **

“I thought these were imported…” It explains the color.  ****  
** **

“Nah, there’s orchards closer to the local forest. Saw ‘em when makin’ rounds today. Mighty colorful. There’s plenty of varieties to choose from.” Therion opens his mouth to take a bite, unsure of what to expect when he does. “Oh, and Therion?” ****  
** **

“Hm?” A similar gentle smile, but there’s something else behind it. ****  
** **

“I’m real proud of ya.”  ****  
** **

“...So I’ve been told.”  ****  
** **

“I am! Really!” ****  
** **

“I believe you. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just…I guess I don’t know how to take it, is all.”  _ One day, perhaps you will be more attuned to flattery. For now... _ Alfyn’s arm makes its way around his shoulders, pulling him close alongside another satisfied bite.  ****  
** **

“You don’t have to. Just know I am. And that I ain’t ever leavin’ your side for anythin’ that happens.” Therion bites into the apple suddenly, if only to remove the flushed color blending his cheeks with the colors of the room. ****  
** **

At first he grimaces. It has a sour kick; different from his expectations. ****  
** **

But then he relaxes. There’s a sweet undertone to accompany it. ****  
** **

_ A pleasurable experience,  _ he notes as he swallows, preparing to take another bite. ****  
** **

And then it hits him, knocking the breath from his lungs and silencing all voices in his mind. ****  
** **

“Therion? H-Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay…it’s going to be okay...”  ****  
** **

He doesn’t realize immediately how he leans into Alfyn’s embrace, tears streaking down his cheeks and dampening his vest. How Alfyn’s hand combs through his hair, never relenting in comfort until his tears dry, different motivation phrases spouting from his lips without end. How the apple remains locked in his fingers, unable to reject another bite. How something in his heart shifts completely from every sentiment he’s known: the weightlessness in it so unfamiliar, but so utterly relieving in its presence.  ****  
** **

But it all comes together as he closes his eyes and takes a second bite, not minding the sour welcome. ****  
** **

In this moment, Therion can envision their future beyond Orewell. The path he and the others are so set on taking will have numerous triumphs and tragedies to follow, whether related to this predicament or not. There will be days with more success and others where Orsterra itself quakes beneath his feet in disappointment. Discoveries will be made one day, and setbacks will be faced another. The battle, he realizes, will be lifelong. Eventually, Therion will have to find his way to Northreach to complete his task. But now, he sees himself going for a different reason. Not because his bangle deigns him to, nor because of a burning revenge wish. All the while, Alfyn -- and the others, of course -- will be there for him at every step of the way. ****  
** **

And beyond that?  ****  
** **

For the first time, Therion can taste freedom from every shackle that’s held him down. Despite its tart impression, it’s refreshingly sweet.  ****  
** **

Content with this, he takes another bite and sighs, leaning further into the embrace that Alfyn welcomes immediately, based in the way he tightens his grip and matches his sigh. Neither dare move again until the moon has long risen above the crags, two apple cores littered by their feet and reflecting its light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oogie boogie Ogen: 0  
> Therion: he'll win every battle no point in counting his wins because he's already a winner

**Author's Note:**

> With that, we reach our conclusion. I have considered one more chapter regarding the subject of relapse and a few years after Orewell, but I’m not sure as of now. Perhaps in the future.
> 
> The biggest challenges in writing this were a few things. First (writing wise), using a different tense than what I’m used to. Second, the idea of conveying an eating disorder as a whole, and trying to convey my experiences and lessons in relation to how I think the characters would handle this situation. I hope I have been able to convey some of those without overstepping boundaries or being too dramatic (because that was never the intent).
> 
> That said, I hope you have enjoyed and thank you so much for reading! (And don't forget to hug Therion always!)


End file.
